


Behind the Scenes

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Conversations through the centuries, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-16 02:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21500665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: “You see” Aziraphale continued “Angels are supposed to be full of love and light, and.. Well that’s certainly how I feel. I love God Almighty, I love my brethren. I love everything about the Garden. I love Adam and Eve. I love…” here he broke off, looking at Crawley and realizing he’d been about to tell the demon that he loved him too, and that wouldn’t go over well with Upstairs. It was true though, he realized with a start. His all encompassing love for all of God’s creatures did quite easily extend to the cynical, lanky, copper haired demon standing before him. It just wasn’t the sort of thing he should talk about openly. Now or likely ever. “..everything” he finished lamely.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 273
Collections: Hot Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop writing about these two, so I'm just gonna keep going. I thought it would be interesting to explore some of their off-screen conversations. How things may have gone down outside the scope of the show, how their friendship slowly developed and turned into love. 
> 
> It's a WIP, but I update regularly.

Aziraphale reached up a thick, well formed hand into the branches of the pear tree and grasped one of the heavy, ripe fruits that hung so temptingly among the green leaves. With a small twist and a gentle tug, the pear came free. He brought it to his nose first, before tasting it, so that he could smell the fragrant scent of it’s green-brown, freckled skin. He sighed happily as the smell traveled up his nasal passages and into the parts of his human brain responsible for memory and pleasure. Smiling a little to himself in anticipation, he bared a row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth and broke the skin of the pear, his teeth sinking into the juicy flesh. He tore a large bite from the fruit and moaned softly as the delicious juice sluiced through his mouth and trickled down his throat as he chewed slowly. The soft, sweet flesh of the pear, smushing around against his tongue and the roof of his mouth was yet another reminder of all the many earthly delights that Aziraphale had been able to sample since taking his assignment as Guardian of the Eastern Gate, a few days ago. 

_ Go forth and protect the new humans Aziraphale. Go forth and guide them away from evil and temptation and towards the light _

And so he had. He’d been kind and helpful to the lovely, simple man and woman that God Herself had created. And along the way, he’d been afforded the opportunity to indulge in many hedonistic pleasures that were simply not available in the sterilized, shining halls of Heaven. Pears for one. And oranges, with their bright, thick skin and zesty smell. Peaches with their soft, furred skin and fragrant, dripping yellow-pink flesh. And the waterfalls and deep pools. 

Sometimes Aziraphale would strip himself of the simple white robes he wore and spend the afternoon swimming. Sometimes he was joined by a happy and newly in love Adam and Eve, who would splash one another playfully and do summersaults. They kept a respectful distance from Aziraphale, though they were always sure to give him a smile and a nod to acknowledge his presence. 

Things were good. The sun shone brightly in the sky. The verdant greenery waved gently in the warm breezes off the desert, cooling from the hot, arid air out among the dunes to a perfect warm temperature that played across Aziraphale’s damp, naked skin as he dried off in the sun after his swims. It was the Sixth Day since God had made the earth and the Garden, and so far, Aziraphale was enjoying himself very much. It wasn’t a bad assignment after all. 

He’d even learned to ignore the demon. There was one, just as God warned him there would be. ( _ Beware Aziraphale, for The Dark Lord will send one of his number to try and disturb the paradise I have made).  _ A large black snake with a red belly that slithered silently from flat sunny rock into cool green grass and away whenever Aziraphale grew nearer than several yards. It seemed harmless. Just another soul, there enjoying the garden along with the angel and the two humans. It certainly didn’t behave the way Azirphale had been lead to believe demons were wont to behave. It didn’t try to attack him, or hiss at him or try to tempt him. It didn’t even speak to him. It simply sunned itself on a rock. Or napped curled in a large coiled heap in the shade of a tree. 

It did speak to Adam and Eve from time to time in hissed whispers, but the conversations looked friendly enough. Eve had even patted the thing on it’s angular black head and seemed to regard it kindly. 

Aziraphale took another bite of the pear, marveling at its perfect taste, and absently wiped away the juice that ran down his chin with the sleeve of his robe, before miracaling the sticky juice from the fabric with a snap of his fingers.

It was then that he saw the demon watching him. He could see it, coiled in its usual place on a nearby flat rock in the early afternoon sunshine, dark scales gleaming along the thick coils of its serpentine body. Usually, the serpent’s eyes were closed while it napped, but at the moment, those yellow eyes were open, and trained on Aziraphale. Aziraphale let the pear fall from his mouth a few inches, peering back at the large black snake-demon with curiosity. The thing blinked slowly but kept him in its sights. 

“Hello?” Aziraphale dared to address it. He was a friendly angel. Too friendly for his own good, or so he’d been told many times by Gabriel and the rest. Still, just because the person one was confronted with happened to be a denizen of the Bottomless Pit, it wasn’t right to be  _ rude. _

The snake stared impassively at him, head turned slightly so that he could focus one eye on Aziraphale. It did not respond. Aziraphale, thinking perhaps it wasn’t looking at him after all… (perhaps it was just napping with it’s eyes open?) returned his attentions back to the pear. He took another bite and chewed happily, sighing as a warm breeze ruffled his hair and ran its playful fingers through his white robes. Yes, this was quite a nice assignment. 

He looked up again a few moments later only to see the snake still staring at him. It’s yellow gaze was somewhat unsettling, making chills play down his spine. Aziraphale had been told many negative things about demons. That they were repulsive and ugly and sinful and murderous and so on and so forth.. A veritable litany of horribleness that he’d been hearing from Gabriel and Uriel and Sandalphon and the others ever since the Great War, when the Fallen Angels were all cast, screaming into the Hell. It seemed wrong to him, to kick the poor creatures when they were … down as it were. Hadn’t they suffered enough?

This was one reason why he didn’t bother trying to smite the serpent. It had done him no wrong and didn’t seem to mean any ill will, and how lonely and sad it must be, living in that horrid place Down Below. Aziraphale was secretly a bit glad for the demon that it had the opportunity to sun itself topside for a while, and so he hadn’t approached it, let alone tried to attack it with his flaming sword. The sword in question was at this moment, leaned up against the trunk of the pear tree, flaming away like anything. Useless and cumbersome as always. 

He tried to ignore the bright yellow eye that was definitely peering at him and went back to finishing his pear. Once it had been reduced to a spindly core, folding between his fingers, he tossed it to the ground. It sank into the soil and integrated back into the earth immediately. Waste not want not he’d been told. Instead of miracling his hands clean of juice, he sucked each finger into his mouth and licked it clean of the succulent, sweet pear nectar. When he looked up again, the serpent was gone. 

_______________________________________

The next day, the seventh day, after that whole debacle that began with Eve eating of the tree of knowledge and had ended with Aziraphale ushering the unhappy couple out into the desert (for their own protection of course), Aziraphale stood up on the wall of The Garden. His hands twisted together worriedly in front of his soft stomach, his eyes staring out at the desert as the young couple made their way uncertainly across the sands. 

So worried was he, that he barely noticed that the serpent had slithered up beside him. He couldn’t help but notice though when the snake reared up and transformed itself, as if molting, coalescing into a shape with two arms and two legs and a head full of copper ringlets. He had to do a swift double take once the demon had finished his transformation. He was an impressive sight after all, with high cheekbones and a sharp, hawk-like nose and full lower lip. Aziraphale felt that same shiver run down his spine as the demon turned yellow eyes to Aziraphale and remarked that the whole thing had gone down “like a lead balloon”. 

Aziraphale was momentarily taken aback by the creature speaking to him. He wondered what had made it so brave, when previously, it had ignored his attempts at communication. Perhaps it’s snake form was shy?

They struck up a tentative and awkward conversation, Aziraphale finding himself alternately flustered, smug, warmed and intrigued as their little chat wound its way from the nature of right and wrong to the embarrassing topic of what had happened to the flaming sword. By the time the first drops of rain fell, Aziraphale felt comfortable enough with the demon, (Crawley apparently) to extend his snowy white wing as shelter from the water that had begun pelting from the sky. Crawley edged closer to him, close enough so that Aziraphale could just barely smell the faint whiff of brimstone about him that betrayed his species. But there was more than just sulfur there. There was an earthy smell, possibly from all that time spent coiled in the grass or lying atop a hot rock. 

____________________________________________

They stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the desert together, until Crawley spoke again. 

“You’re getting wet” he remarked simply. Aziraphale couldn’t argue with him. His bright blond hair was now plastered to his scalp, his white robes were quite damp and becoming translucent. It was a warm rain, and so he wasn’t cold, but it was starting to get a bit uncomfortable. 

“Yes indeed” he replied. “Shall we perhaps seek shelter under one of the trees in The Garden?”

Crawley nodded and together they glided down into the lush forrest below the wall and found themselves sheltering together under the pear tree, whose massive branches provided excellent cover from the falling drops. Aziraphale dried himself with a snap of his fingers and then sat on the mossy ground with his back to the wide trunk of the tree. Crawley stayed on his feet, staring at him with those eerie yellow eyes. He was surprisingly open about his visual appraisal of the angel, not bothering to sneak glances, or to avert his eyes in shyness. He just stared at Aziraphale with a relaxed manner about his neck and head and shoulders. It was a bit uncomfortable. 

“So…” Aziraphale began, nervousness vibrating in every cell of his being. “How long ago did you er… come up here?”

“Probably around the same time you came down” replied Crawley, his face an impassive mask.

“Ah” remarked Aziraphale, starting to feel more than a little self conscious at the demon’s scrutiny. “May I ask why you keep looking at me like that? It’s a bit disconcerting”

“Sorry” the demon said and swiftly looked down at his feet, bare and long and fine boned where they rested on the mossy ground under the tree. “I haven’t had much chance to see an angel up close since…” he let the sentence hang between them. He didn’t have to finish his thought, for Aziraphale knew he meant  _ before the Fall _ . “They are not always as pleasant and welcoming as you are, and well.. You know. I’m curious as to why you’ve spoken to me at all”

“Oh.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say to this. Why  _ was _ he speaking to a demon in such a friendly manner? It must be more than politeness. Politeness couldn’t really explain a casual, friendly conversation with the enemy. Why hadn’t they gone their separate ways when the rain had started to fall? Why had Aziraphale sheltered this strange demon, then… propriety be damned, invited him to further extend their chat under the branches of the pear tree? 

He supposed it was because he’d never been a very good angel. He’d always been tempted by the pleasures life had to offer, sitting among the clouds and watching as the first beautiful nebulas and star systems slowly swirled into existence, out in the velvety blackness of new space. Lounging about in the garden, eating fruit and swimming and chatting with Adam and Eve. He liked pleasurable things. And so, apparently, talking to this slender, yellow eyed, flame haired demon fell under that category as well? 

“Oh, well, because you were so polite. I was told demons were not to be trusted, but you seem very friendly”

“Ah, so you trust me do you angel?” Mirth danced in Crawley’s brilliant eyes. “Do you really think friendliness and trustworthiness are mutually inclusive characteristics?”

Aziraphale stuttered a bit, his mouth gaping open in awkward surprise “well… no…certainly not. I mean.. Well what I  _ meant _ to say was that you  _ seem _ trustworthy  _ because _ of your friendliness”.

“Even after this apple business? Even after I told you they had me come up  _ just to make some trouble _ ? Hmm. Interesting”

“Fine then!” Aziraphale felt as if the demon were mocking him now. Mocking him for his friendly, open nature. “If you think me a fool then we don’t have to continue this conversation” He started to rise to his feet, hands under him to push himself up from the mossy Garden floor, but Crowley was quick to reassure him.

“I’m sorry! No, it’s not that at all. Please stay” the genuine pleading note in his voice stopped Aziraphale mid motion. He sank back onto his mossy seat and shot the demon a reproachful look. “What I really wanted to know angel,” Crowley continued, hands out in a placating manner, “is why you’d want to talk to me at all? It’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a decent conversation, and well… you  _ are _ the opposition as it were.”

“Well, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a decent conversation as well” Aziraphale replied, feeling a rush of relief at finally being able to say it. To address the loneliness he’d been feeling pretty much his entire angelic life. “The other angels…well, they aren’t much for conversation. They’re primarily concerned with the singing of God’s praises and the execution of clerical duties and so forth. And they… well, they haven’t been particularly warm or open towards me.”

“How’s that?” Crowley asked with genuine curiosity “I thought you angelic types were thick as thieves up there. Brotherly love and all that…” He let the end of his sentence hang in the air between them. 

“Well, Gabriel and the rest.. They seem to think I’m not being particularly good at my job” Aziraphale’s tone grew glum and he looked down at his soft hands where they lay, interlaced in his equally soft lap. 

“No offense angel, but seeing that you’re chatting amiably with a demon, I’m not sure they’re far off in their estimation”

Aziraphale shot Crawley a sharp look, but didn’t bother taking the bait. “They say that I’m … well I’m soft. That I don’t smite nearly as often as I should. That I’m too.. Kind”

“Too kind??” Crawley looked genuinely surprised. “I thought that’s what your type were known for… being... _ nice _ ” he flinched slightly as he said the word, as if it burned his tongue. 

“Not really” Aziraphale replied, sighing. “Angels aren’t in actuality very nice at all. They mostly deal in smiting and battling and enacting revenge, and in the completion of large piles of paperwork of course”

“Well that for one is something they have in common with demons” Crawley said. “Loads of paperwork in Hell.”

“You see” Aziraphale continued “Angels are supposed to be full of love and light, and.. Well that’s certainly how  _ I feel _ . I love God Almighty, I love my brethren. I love everything about the Garden. I love Adam and Eve. I love…” here he broke off, looking at Crawley and realizing he’d been about to tell the demon that he loved him too, and that wouldn’t go over well with Upstairs. It was true though, he realized with a start. His all encompassing love for all of God’s creatures did quite easily extend to the cynical, lanky, copper haired demon standing before him. It just wasn’t the sort of thing he should talk about openly. Now or likely ever. “..everything” he finished lamely. 

“Well, that’s very angelic of you” Crawley replied, sounding suspicious, and looking out into The Garden and away from Aziraphale. “Do you think our sides would be happy to see us chatting like this?” he asked, though he surely knew the answer. 

“Definitely not” Aziraphale replied glumly. “But it  _ is _ rather nice to talk to someone… someone I have something in common with”. Luckily Crawley didn’t ask what Aziraphale thought they had in common and Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could describe it even if Crawley  _ had _ asked. It seemed though, that they both had a certain  _ something _ they felt. An out-of-placeness. An awareness that something about their situations in life wasn’t quite right. 

“Yes…” Crawley replied thoughtfully, turning back to flash his yellow eyes in Aziraphale’s direction again, causing another shiver to make its way mysteriously down the angel’s spine. “It is”. 

After a few more polite words, they parted ways. Aziraphale assumed that he wouldn’t be seeing Crawley again. After all, the demon had “made some trouble” as it were in tempting Eve to eat the apple. His job was done. He’d likely head back Downstairs at this point wouldn’t he?

It had stopped raining, and he watched as the demon stepped out from under the cover of the tree and slipped effortlessly back into the long, sinuous form of the snake and slithered away through the lush grass.

“Goodbye” he said softly, though he knew Crawley could not hear him. 


	2. Chapter 2

But they  _ did _ see one another again. Crawley was suddenly beside him, unsettled and disturbed while Aziraphale told him awkwardly about God’s plan to drown all the locals. His hair was now long and wild with a fetching braid down one side of it. His eyes alternately flirtatious and disapproving in ways that unsettled Aziraphale, that made his stomach churn uncomfortably. He didn’t like the feeling he had when telling Crawley that God planned to murder everyone, yes.. even the children, in a massive deluge of water. He didn’t approve either, but he hesitated to tell  _ Crawley _ that. Joining a demon in the criticizing of God’s Will would not be looked on kindly by Upstairs. 

Still, he agreed when after the rain began to fall, Crawley suggested that they fly together to the top of a high hill to stay dry. Again they ended up together under the branches of a tree. This time a fig tree with it’s low, wide, lush foliage providing shelter from the pelting rain. Aziraphale wished he could do something about the sick ache he felt in the pit of his stomach as he watched the humans struggle and fail to escape the rising tides. He supposed watching it happen was the best he could do, being that it was his Boss who’d made the order. And even though he really  _ wasn’t _ consulted on policy decisions, he couldn’t help but feel a sick pang of guilt over all the death. 

Crawley was silent at first, sitting beside him, wings deployed and folded back neatly, just like Aziraphale’s. Eventually though, he must have seen the stricken look on Aziraphale’s face, for he spoke up at last. 

“It’s alright angel” he said softly. “It’s all part of your Ineffable plan isn’t it? It’ll end well I’m sure”

“But how?” Aziraphale turned anguished eyes to Crawley, his hands gripped, white knuckled in his lap. His jaw tight and stomach in knots. Suddenly, he realized what he’d said and swiftly amended it. “I mean… of course it will. It’s only that… I… well.. I shouldn’t say this, but I wish it didn’t have to happen.. This way”

Crawley nodded silently in agreement, and Aziraphale suddenly realized that one of the nice things about having the demon around is that he could say these blasphemous things to Crawley and the demon wouldn’t be bothered by it. He was amoral was he not? A being of sin, cast out from God’s love, and so Aziraphale could voice his doubts and concerns with God’s Plan to Crawley without fear that the demon would turn him in or even be particularly taken aback by it. 

It was nice to have someone to talk openly with. The other angels always had to tow the party line. Any hint that Aziraphale wasn’t on board with what God wanted and they would zero in on him with suspicion in their eyes. It was unsettling. It made relaxing around his own kind impossible. And it was probably why he felt so very relaxed around Crawley.

Well… not  _ relaxed _ exactly. The demon made his heart race with nervous energy and made goose pimples pop up on his flesh. But… despite how unsettled Crawley left him, Aziraphale did actually feel like he could trust him. And besides, the tension he felt around Crawley had a delicious, forbidden feeling. Nothing at all like the mild dread he felt when in Gabriel’s company. 

“Do you like figs?” Crawley asked in a soft tone, shaking Aziraphale out of his reflective reverie. 

“Yes, I do rather” Azirpahale replied. Crawley swiftly stood and plucked a ripe fig from the branches of the tree above them and handed it down to Aziraphale. “Here” he said, his fingers brushing Aziraphale’s briefly, causing another nervous shiver to make it’s way down Aziraphale’s spine as the dark purple, teardrop shaped fruit passed from his hand to the angel’s. 

“Thank you Crawley” Aziraphale replied. 

“ _ Don’t say that _ ” Crawley hissed, but without menace. “I can’t risk my side hearing me being thanked by an angel. Just eat it and cheer up. Your face is a sight” 

“Alright then” Aziraphale busied himself by breaking open the fig and sinking his teeth into the soft, sweet flesh inside. It  _ did _ make him feel a bit better to eat something delicious. He felt some of the anguish and pain over the flood dissipate slowly as he ate. Crawley sat back down next to him, and Aziraphale could tell that the demon was shivering a bit from his damp clothes. He purposefully increased his own body heat, which was prodigious to start with, radiating warmth towards the chilly demon. He heard Crawley sigh imperceptibly at the feel of the angel’s warmth washing over him and saw him edge a bit closer out of the corner of his eye. He smiled indulgently, unaccountably happy to have made Crawley more comfortable. 

Together, they watched as the tides rose and rose. “I suppose if the water rises much further, we’ll have to head back to our main offices to wait it out until it recedes” Aziraphale remarked, his tone making it quite clear that this was the  _ last _ thing he wanted to do. 

“Bugger that” Crawley replied bluntly, making Aziraphale flinch a little. “I say we make ourselves a nice raft and float about down here and wait to see what happens. I try to spend as little time as possible Down Below.”

Aziraphale felt an unusual warmth in his chest at hearing Crawley’s easy and casual use of the word “we” when referring to the two of them. As if they were a pair. He shoved the feeling down guiltily and replied “Yes… I also don’t relish the idea of reporting back to the head office. But how would we…?” he trailed off, looking at Crawley with eyes he was sure were large and glowing.

“Simple really” Crowley replied and snapped his fingers. Before them suddenly lay a large wooden raft where the fig tree had once been. It had upon it a soft, woven blanket, several pillows and a large pile of figs. 

“Oh my!” Breathed Aziraphale. “This is quite lovely!”

“Yeah. Whatever. I couldn’t have us swimming about like otters now could I?” Crawley looked uncomfortable with Aziraphale’s praise. 

Together they climbed aboard the raft, just as the waters rose up and lifted it off the top of the hill in their mighty surge. It had mercifully stopped raining. Aziraphale still felt awful about all the dead humans, and he could tell Crawley wasn’t happy either, but together they lounged on the raft and chatted. About Heaven. About Hell. About their respective duties. Aziraphale had no idea how long they drifted, chatting while he ate figs and Crawley lounged against a pile of pillows, his long limbs draped in his dark robe, his copper hair being lifted and toyed with by the warm breeze. Eventually though, their raft came up against dry land. 

A patch of earth had jutted up from the endless waters, and soon, more and more naked hills rose from the tides, like the backs of ochre colored whales. The water slowly receded, leaving behind it budding new trees and rolling hills and fresh, clean mountains, washed to a sparkling shine by the murderous waves. 

They both flew the short distance from the raft to shore and stood, awkwardly looking away from each other on the sand of a brand new beach. 

“Well. I should be going” Aziraphale mumbled looking at his feet, not wanting to acknowledge to himself that he actually didn’t want to leave at all. That he wanted to keep chatting with Crawley. But spending more time than was strictly necessary with the demon wasn’t advisable. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I should report back to the office. Let them know how God’s whole ‘drowning everyone’ thing went off” Crawley replied. 

They looked at each other briefly, sharing a small smile before both turned away and started to walk in opposite directions. They were both only able to walk a few steps away however before being stopped in their tracks by the sight of a huge swath of bright colors, like a glowing ribbon streaking its way across the sky. The Rainbow that Aziraphale spoke of, this must be it! Crawley and Aziraphale stopped and stared up into the sky as the beautiful, brilliant hues of yellow and blue and red and green painted themselves over the blue of the sky in a breathtaking arch that stretched across the horizon. 

They watched the Rainbow for a little while, then after another shy glance at each other, they really did walk off in opposite directions. Aziraphale felt a strange empty place inside his chest as he walked away from the demon. It took him a moment to realize that it was disappointment at leaving Crawley’s company. 


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley sat back in his chair and watched as Aziraphale demolished several oysters in a matter of seconds. My but the angel could eat. Not that Crowley was complaining. It was something he liked about Aziraphale. If he were honest, he liked a  _ lot _ of things about the angel. 

It was hard  _ not _ to like Aziraphale, what with his ready, beaming smiles, his cheerful manner, his friendly approachableness that had intrigued Crowley from the very beginning. Yes, he decided. He liked the angel quite a bit. And why shouldn’t he? He didn’t have to let the home office know how he felt did he? He could keep his affectionate feelings of comraderie to himself could he not? His own little secret. Not that demons were even supposed to feel affectionate comradery. It was a decidedly un-demonic emotion.

He certainly wasn’t about to let Aziraphale know that he enjoyed his company. Not explicitly anyway. He was sure the angel had noticed how readily Crowley sought him out over the centuries. How after a few decades had passed, Crowley would invariably pop back up and say hello. 

_ This  _ meeting however was the first time they’d eaten together in a real restaurant, in  _ public _ . Crowley never would have agreed to it (it was far too dangerous a risk to take) if Aziraphale hadn’t come out with that surprisingly bold thing about  _ tempting _ him to eat an oyster. Crowley secretly glowed a little on the inside at the recent memory of the angel’s sweet voice, tinged with mischievous flirtation as he’d said the words. “Well then, let me  _ tempt  _ you to-” breaking off swiftly when he saw Crowley’s look of shocked surprise behind his newly acquired dark shades.

Crowley, filled to the brim with wicked joy over Aziraphale getting down and dirty as it were in the manner of a demon, had taken only a moment to think before agreeing. “Temptation accomplished!” he’d said, slapping his hand down on the rough wooden surface of the bar where they sat, watching with glee as Aziraphale’s face paled a few shades and his mouth fell open in shock. “Lets go get some oysters shall we?”   
  


“But… but” Aziraphale was at a rare loss for words, and Crowley grinned broadly at him. “You said you wanted to  _ tempt _ me angel, well, you’ve succeeded. You’re really quite good at it to be honest”.

Aziraphale grew paler still. “I… but… I didn’t mean”. 

Crowley swiftly stood up from the bar, dropping a few extra sesterci as a tip and grabbed the stammering angel by the hand, pulling him up and out of his seat as well. “Where’s Petronas’ restaurant?” he asked casually. “Lead on my fine, feathered friend”

Aziraphale at this point had no choice but to lead Crowley out of the bar and onto the sun drenched streets of Rome. After a few minutes of walking, while Aziraphale chatted nervously about this or that food he’d tried at the market stalls, they reached the restaurant. With a slightly guilty look, Aziraphale had ordered a platter of oysters. 

He’d watched with large, hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity as Crowley had lifted the shell, full of slimy, cold, lemon drenched sea creature to his lips and had knocked it back. It wasn’t bad. Rather tasty actually, and Crowley said so. The incandescent smile that bloomed across Aziraphale’s face upon hearing Crowley’s words made a strange feeling twist in Crowley’s stomach. He ignored it, sitting back and sipping at his wine while Aziraphale ate oyster after oyster with far more sensual pleasure than an angel had any right to display. Dear Satan, the way the angel moaned and the way his long lashes fluttered as he consumed the fishy treats was almost demonic. Crowley was secretly very impressed. 

Watching Aziraphale eat was swiftly becoming one of Crowley’s favorite pastimes. He reassured himself that nothing whatsoever was wrong with this because he was technically witnessing an angel participate in sinful, gluttonous behavior. And really, offering the angel a new piece of fruit, or gently nudging yet another oyster in Aziraphale’s direction could technically be considered tempting couldn’t it? And so he reassured himself that working towards the gastronomical corruption of an angelic being was reason enough to sit and watch him with as much enjoyment as Crowley secretly got from it.

He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed watching Aziraphale consume such a wide variety of foods over the centuries, but he suspected it was because demons did not enjoy things the way Aziraphale did. They were always moaning in pain and shuffling about the gray, dimly lit, stinking hallways of Hell. The only enjoyment any of them seemed to experience was in tormenting and torturing each other. By comparison, Aziraphale’s obvious pleasure and delight in tasting all the lovely, flavorful, interesting things the human world had to offer? Well, it was heavenly to watch. An affirmation of life and joy. The food he ate sprouted from rich soil, was nurtured by the hot sun and the cool rain, or was hauled from the wild salty sea or was hunted as it ran free through the deep, dark forests. It was all a symbol for this beloved earth they’d managed to hang around on for this long. 

And the _way_ Aziraphale ate? He made love to the food he loved. And he loved food so much. He _loved_ _so much in general_ really. His happy sighs and soft moans and fluttering lashes and the contented little smackings of his lips when he was really enjoying himself. It was fascinating to Crowley, who’d spent far too long in the company of demons. There was nothing of pleasure or true enjoyment in Hell. Aziraphale, popping olives into his mouth, or lovingly sucking pomegranate seeds from their spongy bed and delicately spitting them out when they’d been divested of their juices, it was enough to keep Crowley completely transfixed. 

And here they were again, only this time, it was not out in the market, where they  _ just happened to bump into one another _ every few years. They were sitting across from each other at a table. In a restaurant, a tabernaria with people all around, also eating and drinking wine and talking. They were acting like  _ friends _ . The strangeness of it caused a certain tension between them. 

“I’m ever so glad you enjoyed the oyster Crowley” Aziraphale managed to get out between gulps. “Won’t you have another? You so rarely eat anything”

“I prefer to drink” Crowley said simply, still leaning back in his chair and calmly eyeing the plump, rosy cheeked man across from him from behind his shades. As if to illustrate his point, he picked up his clay mug and took a swig of demonically improved wine that had been utter swill before he’d snapped his fingers and had turned it into quite a good vintage indeed. “Eating takes too much time and energy and accomplishes nothing”

“Oh my dear boy, I assure you, it accomplishes many things!” Aziraphale was of course rushing to the defense of his favorite pastime. “Food enlivens the spirit and warms the soul!”

“Two things I don’t possess” Crowley replied archly 

“Oh come now, don’t be silly. You should have at least one more” And before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale had gotten out of his seat, had grabbed an oyster and was standing next to Crowley’s chair, the oyster poised by Crowley’s mouth, an impish look on his handsome face. “Come now. Open up” he commanded with a smile. 

Crowley had no choice but to open his mouth and let Aziraphale deftly tip the oyster past his parted lips. He chewed and swallowed swiftly, feeling the heat of what must have been a raging blush storm the ramparts of his cheeks. Aziraphale, meanwhile, had flounced back to his chair and resumed his place across the table before the surprised and flushed demon could gather his wits about him again. Who was Crowley that he mindlessly obeyed the most frivolous wishes of a decadent angel? He should have knocked the oyster onto the floor and told Aziraphale to sod off. That would have been the proper, demonic thing to do. But of course that would have been cruel, and Crowley found he lacked the ability to do or say anything that would truly hurt Aziraphale. 

Instead, he cleared his throat self consciously and took a swig of wine to wash down the seashore-lemon taste of the oyster. 

“There. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Aziraphale was beaming, obviously quite pleased at himself for his little stunt. 

“Yeah, was fine” Crowley mumbled, unaccountably still a bit unsettled by the warm intimacy of being fed by The Opposition as if he were a recalcitrant child. “Still prefer to drink though” he grumped into his wine mug. 

“It’s too bad Crowley that you can’t enjoy food more, but I will gladly join you in the consumption of some wine” Azirpahale lifted a well formed hand, the sleeve of his toga falling slightly to reveal a pale slice of his soft upper arm as he hailed a waiter. Crowley averted his eyes. 

After Aziraphale had his wine, and they’d both drained their mugs (and refilled them without the use of a waiter) several times, the mood at the table lightened up. Crowley felt himself relax into the angel’s company. It wasn’t so strange was it? To eat with one’s enemy in a public place. Aziraphale surely didn’t seem to mind. He was laughing and joking, regaling Crowley with stories of his time spent among the people of Rome, blessing and helping, of all the characters he’d come across. His eyes were shining, and his cheeks were flushed and his smile seemed to create its own sort of glowing light. It beamed across the table and hit Crowley square in the face, making him glad for the thousandth time that he’d made a habit of shading his eyes behind dark glasses. 

They drank and talked and talked and drank until Aziraphale began listing gently in his chair and his words started slurring slightly. At that point, Crowley decided he’d kept the poor angel too long and stood up, stretching like a large house cat. “Come on angel” he said “It’s late. I’ll walk you home”

“Oh you don’t have to do that” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on a polite stiffness again, and Crowley realized he must have sobered up a bit. “I can make my way to my domus unattended. The streets are quite safe.”

“Fine then. Suite yourself” Crowley felt a stab of disappointment lance through him at Aziraphale’s rejection of a walk home. He knew he liked the angel’s company, but he’d been unprepared for how crestfallen he felt at not having the chance to spend a few more minutes with Aziraphale. He didn’t have the nerve to tell Aziraphale this though, to tell him that the offer to walk him home was not to keep him safe, but to spend a bit more time with him. 

They walked together out of the taberna, back onto the street, and stood a bit awkwardly, unsure of how to say goodnight. The setting sun had caught in Aziraphale’s hair, turning it into a glowing halo of yellow-white fluff above his large, sea colored eyes.

“I hope your temptations go off without a hitch” He said politely.

“Yeah. Good luck with the blessings angel. Goodnight”, Crowley abruptly turned and walked away, unsure of how else to transition smoothly from a friendly goodbye to an exit. He could tell that Aziraphale stood for a moment and watched as he walked away. He wasn’t sure how. By the time he reached the corner however and dared to look back before rounding it, he could see that Azirphale had also departed, leaving nothing behind but a slightly brighter patch of afternoon sunshine pooling in the street in front of Patronas’s place. 


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley leaned languidly against the bar in the tavern and looked wantonly over the rim of his ale mug at the well dressed, gray haired man next to him, who was eyeing Crowley in return like he was a fine slab of beefsteak. 

“So you see Mr. Winston” Crowley purred while cocking a slender, dark clad hip the man’s direction and pouting slightly. “I find it ever so impressive that you and your rather large family are such great patrons of the theater. It’s just so refreshing to meet a man with  _ good taste _ .” 

The man’s eyes raked hungrily over Crowley’s lanky form, lingering appreciatively on the demon’s long, slender legs and his crotch, showcased rather nicely Crowley thought by his tight breeches, and Crowley inwardly smirked in triumph. No one could tempt like he could. And so what if this particular temptation (and hundreds like it over the past week and a half) had all been in the service of helping an angel? No one had to know. For all that Hell was concerned, Crowley was simply having a significant uptick in sinful temptations. And convincing men to bring their wives (or mistresses) to the theater to spend money they shouldn’t be spending, well, that was sinful wasn’t it? 

“I can’t help but feel quite flushed and ardent when in the presence of a true patron of the arts” Crowley cooed and carefully angled himself a few inches closer to the man on the stool beside him. The man was seconds from reaching out and grabbing at some part of Crowley’s anatomy, his face had gone all red and his eyes were full of lust.  _ Yes,  _ thought Crowley.  _ Yes. That’s it you filthy old lech. Take the bait. _

The man did in fact make a grab for Crowley’s thigh, and Crowley let him for a brief moment, knowing that a quick taste was a far better way to stoke the flames of temptation into a roaring fire than no taste at all. But, when he’d let the man stroke his upper thigh for a split second he twisted away coyly, flashing the man a bright smile and saying he had to run. The man growled in frustration and Crowley turned to give him a smoky look through his shades, making sure to pout as he did so “tut tut Mr. Winston. Not until after the show. I’ll be there, in the audience, waiting to see you.. And if you bring as many people as you can to the next performance of Hamlet, I’ll be  _ ever so grateful _ .” He sauntered out of the bar then, leaving the man behind him to imagine exactly what he’d meant when he’d said “grateful”. 

This scenario, or one very much like it had played out again and again over the course of the past several days. Ever since Aziraphale had embarked on his trip to Scotland, his sweet face set and determined, despite the fact that he also hated riding horseback. On the bright side, he  _ did  _ get to wear a tartan kilt, which he seemed quite taken with, (and looked unbearably charming in, though Crowley would never tell him he thought so). He was ever so earnest in his dedication to helping Crowley with his temptations. 

Crowley had rigged the coin toss of course. What kind of demon would he be if he’d left who took the trip to Scotland up to actual chance? Aziraphale had fallen for it, like the trusting chump he was. And to be fair, Crowley realized with a twinge of demonic shame, Aziraphale  _ could _ trust him. With the important things anyway. Things like keeping their flourishing friendship a secret from Hell. Things like making sure Aziraphale sobered up before he walked home down some dark alleyway or another. Aziraphale could trust Crowley with his life and his safety, and Crowley was quite surprised to realize (several centuries ago now) that he was fiercely dedicated to protecting the angel. 

Not that Aziraphale technically needed protecting. He was a principality after all. And a soldier. He was physically far stronger than Crowley, and the power he had in his pinky finger could probably discorporate Crowley if the angel had been an avenging type. But he was ever so sweet and gullible. He was always falling for this or that scam and getting himself into scrapes and tricky situations, putting Crowley in the not-entirely-unpleasant position of helping to rescue him. The silly creature would buy any line anyone fed to him. It came along with being an angel Crowley assumed. It didn’t help that his naivete and trusting nature made him all that much more appealing to the demon.

Perhaps this was why Crowley threw himself into his temptations so wholeheartedly in his efforts to get people to come see gloomy, stupid, boring Hamlet.  _ I’ll show the angel which one of us is a superior immortal being _ he thought with a wicked grin as he approached the next tavern and prepared himself to seduce every wealthy, boy-hungry man inside it.  _ He thinks he’s so good and pure, going off to Scotland to help me out, but he hasn’t seen real craftsmanship until he’s seen *me* strut my stuff. The Globe will be so packed, even *he* won’t be able to find a seat _

It helped Crowley immeasurably to couch his massive efforts to help Aziraphale in the framework of a competition with the angel. Otherwise, he had nothing left but the knowledge that he did it purely because he liked Aziraphale so much, and that was deeply uncomfortable for him. Much better to hide behind The Arrangement and act as if it were a simple exchange of favors, rather than think there were any  _ feelings _ involved in their exchange. Crowley clung to this pretense of competition and mutual favors because the alternative, that his feelings for Aziraphale had bloomed into something tender and caring, was not something Crowley was ready to face head on. Not yet anyway. 

And so he slunk into the next tavern, and the next and the next. And during the day, he roamed the markets, making polite chit chat with wealthy patron’s wives. He’d kiss their hands and give them solicitous, thinly veiled compliments on their beauty and desirability, until they were flustered and pliant. Once they were breathing heavily and their faces were flushed, he told them that he’d be going to see Hamlet’s next performance and how he so adored a woman who appreciated the arts. 

And so it was that the Globe theater was indeed packed to the gills for the next performance of Hamlet. And the one after that. And the one after that for many many years to come. Crowley escorted Aziraphale to the theater, casting secret glances at the angel to see his reaction to the turnout. He was not to be disappointed. 

“Oh Crowley” breathed Aziraphale as he gripped Crowley’s arm and turned a beaming smile in the demon’s direction. “Oh.. I never imagined this many people would come. You’ve done a fantastic job my dear!” 

Crowley blushed and kicked his feet at the cobbled streets and mumbled something about “not really a big deal angel”, but inside, he was leaping for joy at the angel’s happiness.  _ I showed him _ he thought reflexively, still telling himself it was about a competition with The Opposition, instead of something he’d enjoyed solely because it would cause Aziraphale joy. 

They stood together in an honored position near the stage. A place reserved just for Aziraphale, who had become good friends with Shakespeare himself as well as many of the actors (especially Burbage). The size of the audience necessitated that they stand very very close to one another. Crowley stood a little behind Aziraphale and to his right, pushed up against him by the crowd, his face mere inches away from the angel’s wild halo of bright hair, his left side flush against the angel’s right shoulder and right hip. The play started and Aziraphale turned his head, just barely able to see Crowley out of the corner of his hazel eye and smiled a smile of such complete pleasure and happiness that Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat and felt his human heart still in his chest for several beats. 

_ Oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no. _ Something terrifying and profound and frankly quite obvious was dawning on Crowley as he stood, pressed up against the angel in the darkness of the Globe Theater. His demon’s heart had been swelling with this feeling for quite a while now, but he’d written it off as companionship, as fondness, as affection. Brotherly affection. Harmless, simple and easy to deal with. 

Unfortunately, the beaming, glowing smile Aziraphale had blessed him with upon seeing the packed theater, a smile he himself had put on the angel’s face with his demonic temptations, was quickly becoming a reminder that these feelings had skyrocketed past simple companionable affection and had fallen headlong into romantic love. 

_ I love him. Oh dear Satan Below, I love him _ . Once Crowley acknowledged it to himself, it became quite obvious that he’d loved Aziraphale for far longer than he’d ever wanted to admit. Probably from the moment he’d first spoken to him up on the wall in The Garden. But the pure, impossible, improbable nature of these feelings, a demon, in love with an angel...made it hard to recognize as such. He was recognizing it now though. His love for Aziraphale, finally acknowledged by its owner, suddenly felt free to flood through every cell in his body, breaking down all the lies Crowley told himself and kicking its way through his cynicism with flaming surety, leaving behind it an intense yearning feeling that clenched at his chest. 

All he wanted to do now was wrap his arms around Aziraphale and hold him tight. To turn the angel towards him and kiss him, press their lips and bodies together and keep kissing him over and over again. He did no such thing of course. 

He took his urges to embrace and kiss the angel and shoved them down inside himself and forced his eyes towards the stage, to where the boring, gloomy play was sluggishly progressing. A rather lovely young man dressed as Ophelia was saying something dull and insipid, and Crowley couldn’t focus on the words. All he could feel was the flaming heat radiating from where their bodies were pressed together. All he could smell, even in the presence of hundreds of largely unwashed Londoners that surrounded them, was the sweet smell of Aziraphale’s hair and skin. He heard and felt the angel sigh over some silly thing happening up on stage and thought he would discorporate from the urge to touch him. 

This would never do. How was he to live like this? In love with his enemy, forced to watch his adversary’s soft mouth as he spoke and not be able to press his own mouth against it for eternity? To see Aziraphale smile at him and not be able to wrap the angel up in his arms. Ah. Now he could tell why The Almighty seemed not to care that Crowley was up here on earth, canoodling with an angel for so many centuries. It was Her way of punishing him. Aziraphale was his punishment, not Hell, with its boredom and filth and it’s endless paperwork. No, his torture was far more subtle and far, far more painful than any Beelzebub or Hastur could accomplish. 

And yet, the thought of living without Aziraphale was unbearable. If he must suffer in order to be by the angel’s side, then suffer he would. He had no other choice. The earth was only really beautiful and delicious and entertaining because he got to experience it now and again with Aziraphale. He realized just how much he looked forward to seeing the angel during the long, lonely years when they weren’t together. 

Well, if pining after an unattainable love was how he was meant to spend eternity, he’d just have to find a way to deal with that. He carefully packed his feelings away, down into a tight little ball and tried to force himself to pay attention to Hamlet. 

After the play, which was greeted with thunderous applause for far too long, Aziraphale begged Crowley to come out with him for a drink, and Crowley of course relented. 

“Oh that was simply fantastic!” The angel exclaimed before taking a sip of ale from his mug as they sat across from each other at a small table in a tavern near The Globe. “You exceeded even my wildest expectations Crowley. I am ever so grateful! You must let me do an extra temptation or two just to compensate”

Crowley despite his mixed up state of mind, had to chuckle to himself at the angel’s about face regarding temptations. Before leaving for Scotland, he’d played the coy, scandalized choir boy, acting flustered and disapproving of Crowley’s suggestion that they take part again in The Arrangement. Now though, after a packed house for his favorite play,  _ he _ was the one suggesting that he help Crowley with temptations. “Sure angel. I’ll come up with something you can do to pay me back”  _ you could kiss me and hold me and tell me you love me _ his mind supplied unhelpfully, but he pushed those thoughts away quickly. 

“I really am ever so grateful Crowley. You are quite talented indeed. Not that I ever doubted you.  _ I _ on the other hand, didn’t do nearly as good a job with your temptations as you did with my little favor. I did  _ try _ to tempt a clan leader to steal some cattle, but I couldn’t help but have him draw up a contract and for some money to trade hands first. Otherwise, it wouldn’t seem fair.”

Crowley couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing. “You mean you convinced a clan leader to  _ buy some cattle _ ?” he clutched at his sides, shaking with mirth, tears rolling down his cheeks. Aziraphale looked at him sternly, mouth set in a thin, disapproving line. 

“Really Crowley. There’s no need to mock me. I’m an  _ angel _ . I wasn’t meant to tempt like you were.”

“Yeah angel. Yeah. No. Don’t mind me. I just find it rather charming that you couldn’t help yourself. You just  _ had _ to be kind and fair minded. It’s one of your more admirable qualities. I will say though that you’d make a horrible demon”

“Well of course I would” Aziraphale, still put out by being laughed at, took another gulp of ale and sniffed indigently. 

“Buck up angel. You have lots of other positive qualities.”.  _ You’re beautiful and desirable and your skin is so soft, and your eyes are so pretty and you make my heart leap in my chest _ , _ and watching you eat a lamb chop is pure pornography... _ Crowley mentally kicked himself to get his brain to stop supplying him with a long list of Aziraphale’s finer qualities. 

“Besides” he continued. “I really do appreciate you trying. You know how I hate horses. Fine creatures and all that, but quite hard on the buttocks.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale replied with a flinch “I had to miracle away quite a few saddle sores. And Scotland at this time of year is quite cold and damp.”

They drank and talked together for a long time. It had been over two weeks since they’d parted ways at the Globe Theater. Two weeks since Aziraphale had given Crowley that tender look, saying  _ But if Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry. They’ll destroy you _ . The caring concern in Aziraphale’s eyes had been all the motivation Crowley needed to spend the intervening two weeks working diligently to make Hamlet one of history’s most celebrated plays of all time. Even though two weeks was less than a blink of an eye by immortal standards, Crowley had missed him. And so each time Aziraphale looked as if he was ready to say goodnight, he’d ask the angel another question he knew Aziraphale couldn’t help but respond to with a long winded explanation. 

“And what is the precise family history of these MacDougal cattle ranchers?”

“However did you come up with the idea for that contract? It sounds like a lengthy process”

“What sorts of food do they have up in Scotland these days?”

It worked like a charm. Aziraphale went on and on about Scottish bloodlines and hastily drafted cattle sale contracts and haggis, and Crowley simply listened and watched with deep pleasure the moves of Aziraphale’s face and his changing expressions as he spoke. 

Eventually though, it was the early hours of the morning. The tavern owner was eyeing them and rather aggressively cleaning off the tops of nearby tables with a filthy rag, and so the next time Aziraphale rose to leave, Crowley was forced to let him go. They stood outside the tavern for a moment while Aziraphale straightened his many layers of brocade rich clothing and Crowley watched him from behind his shades. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening” Aziraphale said, a bit unsteadily from all the ale he’d drunk. “And thank you again for the play”. He reached out and grasped Crowley’s hands in his own and gave them a squeeze and Crowley barely suppressed a surprised gasp at the rare physical contact. 

Unable to stop himself, he took one of Aziraphale’s warm, soft hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it. Aziraphale looked surprised, but did not pull his hand away. “You’re welcome angel” Crowley said in a rough whisper. “Have a good night”. He released Aziraphale’s hand and walked away, forcing his feet in a direction they had no desire to go. 


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale marched resolutely away from his meeting with Crowley by St. James’ Park lake. He was  _ furious _ . Quite possibly the angriest he’d been in many hundreds of years. How  _ dare _ Crowley ask him for something so dangerous, so terrifying? Had the demon no sense of what his request might do to Aziraphale’s nerves? Let alone what it might do to Crowley’s flesh were Aziraphale to give him what he wanted? Thoughts of Crowley, melting away to a steaming pile of nothing echoed through his mind, interspersed with Crowley’s cruel, cold, oh so handsome face saying the words 

_ I have lots of other people to fraternize with angel _ . 

Twin surges of fear and jealousy curled inside Aziraphale’s tight chest as he made his way out of the park and walked stiffly toward his shop. What exactly did Crowley mean that he had lots of other people to fraternize with? Which people? Where were they? He’d never seen Crowley in the company of anyone other than himself, but then again, they did spend years, sometimes even decades apart from each other. Who knew what kind of shenanigans Crowley got up to when Aziraphale wasn’t around. Did he eat and drink with people who were not Aziraphale? Did he laugh and joke late into the night with other people? Perhaps Crowley had other... _ friends?  _ Aziraphale flinched inwardly at referring to Crowley, even indirectly, even in the privacy of his own mind, as a friend. 

Well, what was he if not a friend? “Adversary” seemed such a tough, burly word for the fondness Aziraphale felt for the lanky demon. “The Opposition”, a term regularly used by Gabriel during the admittedly rare check in meetings he’d had with Aziraphale felt cold and impersonal. But “friend”? Friend was somehow too close. Too personal. Too  _ warm,  _ a term. The word “friend” made Aziraphale feel exposed and unsafe, and so he avoided it. 

And what of the word “fraternizing”? That had clearly made Crowley unhappy. His face had gone cold and stiff the minute the word had left Aziraphale’s mouth. But why? Fraternizing was indeed what he and the demon had been doing for thousands of years now. Meeting in secret. Sharing information about what their opposing sides were planning. Trading blessings and temptations. Laughing. Joking. To fraternize meant “to become like brothers”. What was their relationship, if not “fraternizing with the enemy”?

Here, Aziraphale mentally paused his thoughts for a moment. Crowley may not have technically been his friend, but he was definitely  _ not _ his enemy. Enemies was the harshest and coldest of all the words he could use to describe their relationship. Enemies actively antagonized each other. Enemies attacked one another and strove to bring one another down. Crowley on the other hand often did very nice things to  _ help _ Aziraphale. He was kind and thoughtful, if a bit rough around the edges. Hadn’t he just rescued Aziraphale from the Bastille, only a few short decades ago? Aziraphale softened slightly in his anger at the memory of Crowley’s smiling face across the table of that little creperie in Paris where they’d shared those delightful chocolate current crepes. Well, “shared” being the operative word as Crowley had taken two bites of his and then settled back to watch while Aziraphale happily polished off his serving. Once he’d finished, and had cast a longing look at Crowley’s plate, the demon had indulgently pushed the plate towards Aziraphale’s side of the table so that he could eat Crowley’s serving as well. That was not the behavior of an enemy was it?

It was clear that Crowley was no enemy. And yet Aziraphale could not quite bring himself to call the wily demon his friend either. To do so felt like a betrayal of his dedication to serving God’s Will. As if the moment he let down his guard and thought of Crowley as a “friend”, Heaven would descend to punish him for his betrayal. But upon replaying their spat by the lake in his mind’s eye, he could now see how Crowley might have been insulted by having their long and rich and very enjoyable history as companionable adversaries referred to as “fraternizing”. Still, for Crowley to say he didn’t need Aziraphale stung. It stung badly. Why was that? 

Aziraphale knew why. It hurt to be told Crowley didn’t need him, because, well, because he  _ needed Crowley _ . Needed him as a companion and a partner to while away the centuries. To stave off the grasping, aching loneliness that came from being one, solo immortal entity among millions of fragile, short-lived human beings on a vast, lonely planet. A planet that he loved dearly, but that he had no desire to experience alone. Yes, he spent long stretches of time without Crowley. But even then, he wasn’t truly alone. He could take solace in the thought that Crowley was  _ out there _ , somewhere, and he could look forward to seeing him again. 

Crowley sometimes sent him little notes, and Aziraphale would respond with little notes back. A few short lines on parchment, and later proper paper, in a spidery hand, that would appear in Aziraphale’s shop on the top of a well used bookshelf, or propped against his teapot in the morning so that he wouldn’t miss them. He’d collected them all and kept them in a little box under his unused bed. Sometimes, when he missed Crowley, he’d take them out and read them. Crowley never said much. He wasn’t one for flowery words, but his little notes were always a joy to receive. Once Aziraphale got home to the bookshop, he realized that his anger and fear had cooled largely during his walk. He went straight upstairs and fished the small box out from under his bed and spread all of Crowley’s notes out on the slightly dusty bedspread and read them all:

“Get out and take a walk today angel. Shake off the layer of dust and close that book”

“Meet at the market? I have a small temptation that needs doing. Will treat you to lunch”

“New restaurant on Berwick. Looks promising”

And once, a note Aziraphale was unaccountably fond of receiving:

“You’re quite silly”. 

This had been sent after a night of heavy wine drinking in which Aziraphale had accidentally poked himself in the mouth with a fork while trying to fit too much sauteed spinach into one bite. 

He wondered if Crowley kept the little notes Aziraphale had sent over the centuries. He hoped so. Perhaps though, the demon was too busy spending time with all those  _ other people _ he’d mentioned during their spat? Too busy to care about the silly little notes of an angel? Aziraphale pictured Crowley drinking wine and laughing into the small hours of the morning with someone else. Perhaps a handsome man he’d tempted into falling head over heels with the demon? Would Crowley put a hand on such a man’s knee? Would he let such a man...kiss him? The thought of anyone kissing Crowley made Aziraphale extremely uncomfortable in several different ways. Did Crowley even kiss? Was he a kisser? Did he embrace others? He’d never embraced Aziraphale. Nor had he kissed Aziraphale. 

What might it be like to kiss Crowley?

Aziraphale let himself imagine Crowley’s soft, well formed lips pressed against his own for a few moments. The mental image was swiftly accompanied by a rush of heat to his face and a shameful tightening of his trousers.  _ Oh my _ . This wouldn’t do. Aziraphale tried to banish the thoughts of Crowley’s plump lower lip and what it would feel like to suck it gently into his mouth and moaned a little out loud at the explosion of tingles in his lower belly as that image played in his mind’s eye. 

_ No. No. Not an appropriate thing for an angel to spend time thinking about _ . Aziraphale swiftly gathered up all of Crowley’s notes and stuffed them back into the box and put it back under the bed. He stood up, ignoring his stubborn erection and marched downstairs to make some tea. Yes, tea would get his mind off of jealousy fueled erotic images of kissing his adversary. His tall, lanky, copper haired adversary, with piercing golden eyes and cheekbones that could cut cold butter. 

Aziraphale eventually succeeded in banishing the salacious thoughts of Crowley’s lips on his own with the aid of several deep breaths, the smell of some perfectly brewed chamomile tea and a new book he’d been looking forward to reading. Yes. He certainly had pushed those thoughts away. Because he was a  _ good angel _ , and definitely was not currently involved in fantasizing about what it would be like to run his hungry hands around Crowley’s narrow waist and pull him close. To kiss Crowley’s long neck, to push Crowley’s black, stove pipe jacket away from his slender shoulders, and pull off those blasted shades and put his mouth all over…

_ Oh drat! _ Aziraphale, now ensconced in his favorite chair, hot cup of tea by his elbow and new first edition open temptingly in his lap, had an even stiffer erection than before he’d made the tea. Tea was  _ not _ helping this situation. Neither was his new book. He couldn’t focus on the words on the page, because images of Crowley’s long limbs and open, gasping mouth kept swimming before his mind’s eye. He’d better take care of this situation the old fashioned way. 

He put the book aside and swiftly unbuttoned his pants and took out his now achingly stiff cock. He’d never masturbated before, but there was a first time for everything wasn’t there? And he reasoned that it was a perfectly good way to exorcise these feelings so that he could get back to the less complicated, less confusing matter of being an angelic bookshop owner with a fresh cup of tea to drink. 

He took himself in hand and stroked himself gently while thinking of Crowley’s flashing eyes and smiling lips, Crowley’s long fingered hands and lanky thighs. Before long, he felt a pleasurable tension build and then crest deep inside him like a tingling wave. He gasped out softly as his hot semen spilled over his pumping fist. His orgasm, while admittedly delightful, was followed swiftly by a deep sense of shame and guilt. 

Crowley would probably be horrified to learn that Aziraphale had touched himself while thinking of the demon this way. It felt like a breach of privacy. Like he’d done something to Crowley without his permission, and that made him feel quite uncomfortable. Still, Aziraphale could see the appeal of this whole masturbation thing. He could see why humans engaged in it semi-relentlessly. It was very intensely enjoyable. And he did feel a rush of calm tranquility in the wake of his orgasm that went a long way to ameliorate his shame over his behavior. He was finally able to focus on his book again. He sighed deeply and miracled away the mess of his effort, then reached for his cup of tea, finding it too cold to drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea that they wrote one another little notes over the centuries. It never sat well with me that they'd be OK with such long periods without seeing each other without *some* form of contact. 
> 
> I also like the idea that Crowley's first strong feelings for Aziraphale are romantic love (uncharacteristic for a demon) and that Aziraphale's first strong feelings for Crowley take the form of sexual lust (uncharacteristic for an angel). 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments! They are amazing and wonderful and I so look forward to them! <3 <3 <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It never sat well with me that Aziraphale spent the entire time Crowley napped through the 19th century and into the 20th believing that he might be dead. When he sees Crowley again in the church, he's happy and relieved, but far too grumpy to be seeing his true love again after believing him dead by holy water. So I played with the headcannon a little in this chapter. 
> 
> This is probably riddled with mistakes as I'm posting in a rush to head off to work. Anyone want to be my beta? I probs should use one, as one conscientious commenter suggested.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Thank you!

The years went by, turning inexorably as they always did into decades. It had been thirty years since their fight by the lake, and Aziraphale had started to worry a little. Crowley was suspiciously absent. Somehow more absent than he usually was after only a few decades. Aziraphale could sense a definite sort of nature about his absence from the normal places around London where he usually ran into the demon. 

He’d sent Crowley several little notes: ( _ Shall we visit the ducks tomorrow?. Fancy a drink dear boy?, I have a lovely new bottle of  _ _ Gruaud Larose 1893 that sounds promising).  _ And finally, when he’d grown tired of being subtle, ( _ I consider it quite rude that I’ve invited you out several times and have heard nary a peep from you Crowley) _

A quick trip to Crowley’s set of rented rooms across the city yielded little along the lines of information about where he’d gone. Crowley’s rooms were locked up tight and silent as a tomb. There were some sort of demonic protections about the place, and at first, Aziraphale assumed that Crowley was simply napping. He did that sometimes, just wandered off somewhere for a nap and didn’t wake up for a few months. It was some sort of demonic coping mechanism… or perhaps it wasn’t. Aziraphale wasn’t clear on exactly  _ why _ Crowley napped so often. The angel could not see the point in rendering oneself unconscious for a period of time when one didn’t need to. It seemed a dreadful waste of time, that could spend obtaining new books and trying new restaurants. Then again though, Crowley had often mocked him for the silly, round, wire spectacles he wore when reading that he absolutely did  _ not _ need, so perhaps the napping was a bit like that. 

For a few years, he reassured himself that napping was all the demon was doing. Just sleeping away in his ridiculous, brocade-draped four poster bed. But as the years stretched by and swelled into a decade, he was less certain. His thoughts started to stray back to the last conversation they’d had. Crowley had asked for  _ holy water _ . He’d said it was for insurance, but what if he’d gone in search of it himself and there had been an accident? These thoughts caused a cold tendril of dread to curl inside the place behind his heart. What if Crowley had died? Not inconveniently discorporated, but had gotten himself well and truly destroyed? What would Aziraphale do then? The mere thought of life without Crowley sent Aziraphale’s mind and heart to a very dark place. What would the earth be, in all it’s glorious wonder without the demon there to share it with him from time to time? He’d be truly alone without Crowley. Just him, a few billion, very mortal humans and a hoard of stuffy, letigious, vengeful angels.

And so, when Crowley did not reappear after thirty years, Aziraphale chose to drown his fears and sorrows in some wine. He’d worked himself up into quite a drunken tizzy over the thought of losing Crowley, and it was an indicator of just how lost in paranoid ideations about the demon’s probable demise he’d become, when it took him three bottles of merlot to remember that demonic warding sigils did not apply to angels. And so he sobered himself up and immediately made his way back to Crowley’s rooms. 

Standing outside the doors, he sized up the invisible (to the mortal eye) protections that crisscrossed the demon’s doors and windows. Crowley had taught him a tiny bit about infernal magic over the course of their acquaintance, and he was almost certain that if he could deal with some relatively intense physical discomfort, he could simply open the door to Crowley’s rooms and enter. He reached his hand out to the doorknob and felt the telltale burning tingle of demonic protections kicking (or trying to kick) into gear. He turned the knob and gasped slightly as a series of unpleasant fiery pinpricks ran up his arm and into his shoulder as he did so. Ignoring the pain, he pulled open the door and stepped slowly across the threshold, letting the prickling, unpleasant needle jabs of demonic fire play up and down his body in sickening waves as he slowly advanced through the door and into the darkened room beyond. After probably half a minute, he was able to pull himself through the barrier of infernal wardings around the door and step fully into the room. He paused for a moment to breath deeply and let the unpleasant tingling recede, and to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness of Crowley’s sitting room. Once he could see the shadowy shapes of lamps and armchairs (likely the place had come pre-furnished as Crowley had little use for plush, domestic niceties, outside of a comfortable place to sleep), he swiftly made his way towards what he assumed would be the bedroom. 

Here he encountered another warded doorway and grimaced at the prospect of dealing with the discomfort of forcing himself through the demonic magics protecting it a second time. But he’d come this far. If Crowley were still alive, and not destroyed by holy water, he’d undoubtedly be behind this door. Aziraphale would put himself through far worse than some minor physical pain to reassure himself that Crowley was truly unharmed. He took a deep breath and twisted the knob. 

The protections on this inner doorway would have been unbearable for your average demon to withstand. The wardings had not been created to keep angels out, as most of them wouldn’t even be interested in looking for Crowley at this point in time. Demons however, demons were crafty and vengeful and Aziraphale knew some of them couldn’t wait for Crowley to slip up so they could try to bring him down. It was a common occupational hazard, and it was why Crowley had been seeking the holy water in the first place. Fear of retribution from his own side. Aziraphale, as an angel, and a particularly strong one at that, could cross a threshold meant to keep a demon out, but not without some unpleasant side effects. And unpleasant they were. Crowley had put double wardings on his inner sanctum, and Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as he felt the pain of demon’s magic lick its way up his arm and across his chest when he turned the knob. He bravely pushed his way through what felt like a wall of roiling, nauseating static that filled the doorway to Crowley’s bedroom, wincing as the protective spells sought him out and tried their best to make his insides turn to liquid smoke. 

His angelic essence was incompatible with the wardings’ main purpose of total and utter incapacitation and destruction, and the magics swirled uselessly, if sickeningly through Aziraphale corporation as he stepped through the door and into the room. He paused for a longer moment here, his hands on his knees, sweating a bit from the effort and letting his senses return to normal. For a brief moment, he thought he might retch, but luckily, his control over his earthly body was such that he could force the urge down. 

After a few minutes, he regained his composure and looked around. The room was dark, like the rest of Crowley’s flat, with heavy drapes over the windows. Aziraphale’s eyes quickly adjusted though, and soon he could see the dim shape of a large, four poster bed near the right side wall of the room. His heart rate quickened. Crowley had to be in that bed, even though, probably with the help of even more wardings, Aziraphale couldn’t sense his presence, couldn’t smell his earthy, smoky smell, or feel his demonic essence humming away like he normally could when he was near Crowley. But.. but what if it  _ wasn’t _ demonic wardings that kept him from sensing Crowley? What if the demon were actually little more than a puddle of clothes and ashes in the center of the bed? What if he’d decided to end his own life? Or if he’d made a stupid mistake with the holy water he’d secretly obtained behind Aziraphale’s back. All Aziraphale needed to do was take a few steps and part the curtains that hung around the bed to find out the truth, and yet, he paused, letting his heart pound away in his ears for a moment first, fearing what he might find. 

_ No sense in waiting _ he told himself stoically, and advanced on the bed. He reached out a trembling hand and slowly pulled back the curtains… and felt his heart leap with joy at what he saw beyond it. Crowley, loose and sprawled on the bed, clearly asleep. Asleep and whole and unharmed. Aziraphale thought he might pass out from the deep swell of warm affection and sudden rush of intense relief he felt upon seeing the demon. 

Crowley slept as he did everything, with complete and utter abandon and a total lack of decorum. He lay on his back, limbs splayed out wildly, across the mattress. He was wearing a pair of very clingy black silk pajamas and his hair, long now, after thirty years of unrestrained growing, was fanned out in long copper ripples across his many pillows. His head was turned towards Aziraphale, mouth hanging softly open, eyes closed. Aziraphale could not help but stand and admire him for a few moments. He so rarely had the opportunity to observe Crowley without the demon being aware of it. In fact, due to Crowley’s semi-constant use of dark glasses, the opposite was usually true. Crowley could look at Aziraphale all he wanted from behind his glasses, and Aziraphale had to wait until Crowley turned away or became preoccupied with something in order to look at him without being observed. 

He let his eyes play (a little guiltily) over Crowley’s long legs and thin arms and let his gaze rest for a moment on the gentle rise and fall of Crowley’s narrow chest while he breathed, deeply and slowly in his sleep. He seemed so helpless and soft and vulnerable like this. No longer cynical or prickly or making jokes. Just loose and warm, and oh so sweet. Aziraphale felt his heart swell inside his chest with deep affection for the ridiculous, sleeping demon before him. He stepped a little closer and dared to sit down next to Crowley on the edge of the bed, being careful to sweep a pile of copper locks out of the way before he did so and simply sat there for a while, he wasn’t sure how long, gazing at Crowley’s sleeping face. 

He missed the demon so very much, but he was beyond glad that he was unharmed. It would go a long way towards making being without him for a few decades bearable, knowing he hadn’t been killed by holy water, or taken out by his own side. Aziraphale reached out and gently, carefully tucked a curl of red hair behind Crowley’s ear and placed his warm hand softly against the demon’s cheek for a moment. Crowley didn’t wake. He could sleep through a battle, and had a few times before, and so Aziraphale decided he’d spent enough time mooning at his bedside and got up to leave. As he did so, he heard Crowley stir on the bed and turned back to look down at him, hoping he’d woken up so that they could go get something to eat together. 

But Crowley was only changing position. He turned over, away from Aziraphale, dragging a disordered pile of sheets with him and curled into a ball, showing Aziraphale a thin sliver of pale skin on his lower back as his pajama bottom rucked up a bit with his movements. As he did so, Aziraphale could swear he heard the demon mumble “angel” in his sleep. But he couldn’t be absolutely sure he hadn’t imagined it. He saw a pile of the notes he’d sent the demon, unopened on Crowley’s bedside table and snapping his fingers, he made the grumpy one, about Crowley being rude, disappear in a puff of angelic smoke. 

Leaving the flat was easy. Once someone had forced their way in, there was no point in making it difficult for them to leave, and so Aziraphale walked out and onto the street without incident. He sighed deeply, reassured in the knowledge that his beloved demon was safe and all in one piece. 

_ My beloved demon? _ Now where had that thought come from? 

_________________________________________

Being without Crowley for the foreseeable future, Aziraphale decided it was time for a change of scenery. And so, in late February 1893, he boarded the sailing vessel the SS Adriatic, from Liverpool, bound for New York and headed to the much famed World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago Illinois. He sent Crowley many little notes over the long, six week journey across the Atlantic, chatting with the demon amiably by way of lots of little slips of paper, describing the food on board, and the roughness of the sea and of all the lovely people he met along the way. 

Once he reached New York, he swiftly obtained a ticket on the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern Railway to Chicago. He continued writing to Crowley along the way, about the sights and smells and sounds of America. How everyone was blunt and rushed and how hard it was to find a proper cup of tea. Soon, he arrived in Chicago, with barely two weeks to spare before the opening of the Exposition. Once he’d paid his ticket and wandered inside, he was stunned at what he saw. A massive, gleaming white city had sprung up as if out of nowhere. The exposition was filled to the brim with amazing sights and sounds and new inventions. Electric lights and waterways with boats to ferry passengers about, and the giant ferris wheel, rising above it all. Aziraphale missed Crowley even more sharply in the face of all these majestic wonders. He imagined Crowley sitting next to him on the boat ride he’d purchased. Imagined Crowley beside him on the breathtaking ride he took on the great wheel. Imagined perhaps that they might have held hands and looked out together across the miles and miles of Illinois landscape visible from the top of the massive wheel. 

He ate Cracker Jacks and shredded wheat and apple pie and wished Crowley was there to tease him for his insatiable appetite. He gazed at the white city, all lit up in it’s frightfully modern beauty and his heart called out to his demon companion. Crowley was likely still sleeping. Until he responded to one of Aziraphale’s many notes, the angel would just have to assume that Crowley still slumbered. Aziraphale did think it strange at how much he missed Crowley for how relatively briefly they’d been apart. He had been accustomed in the past to spending a few hundred years between their meetings. Now, a few mere decades and he already felt that a part of him was missing. The reason for this longing of his was not something he could handle fully acknowledging to himself, and so he tried his best to ignore it while he wandered, wide eyed and awed through the exposition. 

________________________________________

Aziraphale, back in London, did his best to spend his days and nights without Crowley around to talk to. He purchased new books and did his blessings and ate out at fine restaurants, while gazing sadly at the empty chair across from him. For a brief while, he befriended the author Oscar Wilde, and the two spent some pleasant evenings together, discussing literature and culture and drinking wine. Wilde was clever and handsome and witty. He trusted Aziraphale, and so he told him of his forbidden passions for other men, and Aziraphale shyly told him that he too had a “special friend” in his life. It afforded him an opportunity to speak about Crowley and his affection for the demon without fearing reprisal. Wilde did not know that Aziraphale was not a homosexual human male, but rather an immortal being, struggling with forbidden feelings for another immortal being. But the premise of their passions and woes were similar enough that a solid friendship bloomed between them. When Wilde was imprisoned and when he died soon afterwards, Aziraphale was heart broken. It was a poignant reminder that friendships with humans were doomed to end in grief. 

_________________________________________

Towards the end of the 1930s, as Europe was gearing up for war with Germany, after the invasion of Poland, Aziraphale was approached by a lovely young woman with Brittish Military Intelligence named Rose Montgomery. She needed his help, she said with the obtaining of some rare books of prophecy in order to lure two very high ranking Nazi officials into a church so that they could be arrested and interrogated. Aziraphale readily agreed. 

How was he to know that Rose had been working with the Nazis? Or that they’d used him just to obtain the books of prophecy for their superstitious, power-hungry Fuhrer? As Rose had turned the gun on Aziraphale and it swiftly became clear that she was in league with Mr. Glozier and Mr. Harmony, Aziraphale mentally kicked himself for being such a gullible angel. 

And then, all of them had turned confused eyes towards the front of the church where the door had slammed open, admitting a slender, dark clad figure in a black fedora hat. The figure, hopping and dancing its way down the aisle like a particularly animated scarecrow, had turned out to be Crowley! Aziraphale could barely contain his joy at seeing his companion again. 

Crowley, dear, sweet, selfless Crowley had risked his own safety (or the safety of the bottoms of his feet anyway) to dance gingerly down the aisle of the church on consecrated ground, just to keep Aziraphale from being discorporated by Nazi goons. Aziraphale felt his heart swell in his chest at the sight of his brave, dashing demon, coming to his rescue. 

Things progressed quickly and soon they were both standing in the flaming ruins of what had moments ago, been a church. Alone together for the first time in almost a century, Aziraphale had felt awkward and shy. “That was very kind of you” he said, voice trembling slightly with some unnamed emotion. Crowley had reacted predictably to being thanked and complemented.

“Shut up” he growled amiably, putting his shades back on after wiping them free of church dust. 

And then, when Aziraphale thought his books had incinerated in the fire, he was ever so distraught. He’d worked so very hard for so many centuries to keep those precious books spotless and in tip top condition, and now they were all gone!

It wasn’t until Crowley sauntered over, wrenched the bag of books from a disembodied Nazi hand and passed them over to Aziraphale that the angel realized that his books were all safe and sound. Safe and sound thanks to Crowley. The demon nodded his head politely, asking “lift home?” as if he hadn’t just miraculously saved Aziraphale’s most prized possessions from utter destruction, and sauntered off towards the street, as air raid sirens and screams echoed in the distance. 

Aziraphale watched him go, his hands clasped tightly around the handle of the bag of books, his heart pounding away in his chest as a warm, rushing swell of emotion flooded through him. Crowley.  _ Crowley. Crowley. Crowley. _ His heart spoke Crowley’s name with every beat. His eyes hungrily filled up with the sight of his long absent companion, walking with hips swinging, dark suit oh so fetchingly encasing his long arms and legs as he made his way over to a very fancy automobile parked a safe distance across the street. 

_ Crowley _

_ Crowley _

_ Crowley _

Aziraphale could think of nothing but the demon’s name, over and over again in his head like a soft benediction, a gentle prayer.  _ My friend _ he thought, for the first time without fear or resistance _. My companion. My dearest darling.  _

_ My love _

It was in that moment that he knew, with utter certainty that his heart belonged completely to Crowley. He had been fighting the reality of these feelings for thousands of years, and now, the combination of all those long decades of missing the demon, of pining away and wishing he was close, combined with the saving of his precious books and the sight of Crowley, unbearably handsome in his sharp, dark suit. Well… it was all a bit too much. The love he felt for Crowley rose up inside him like a great, warm tide and washed away all the cautious, careful stories he’d told himself about brotherly affection and companionable adversaries. In its place, was the burning hot surety that he was completely, hopelessly, helplessly in love with Crowley. 

“Coming angel?” Crowley had reached the car and had turned back, leaning lazily against the door and looking at Aziraphale with a sly grin. The angel realized that he was still standing, like a fool, among the flaming rubble of the church, clutching his bag of books to his chest. 

“Y-yes! Yes. On my way!” he cried out, then picked his way gingerly through the large chunks of stone and the shattered glass until he reached the street and walked over to join Crowley. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the demon’s shaded eyes though, keeping his gaze trained on the automobile Crowley was leaning against. “My my” he said, voice strained with the effort of acting normal under very powerfully distracting circumstances “what have we here?”

“Oh angel! This here is the love of my life. A next-to-brand new, mint condition, 1930 Bentely. Isn’t she beautiful?” Crowley’s voice was full of loving admiration, and Aziraphale felt a brief flash of utterly irrational jealousy. 

“Oh yes. Quite” Aziraphale mumbled, looking appreciatively at the long, lean, curvaceous automobile parked in front of him, still resolutely avoiding looking at Crowley for fear that the demon would see the aching, hopeless love in his eyes. “She’s very beautiful” he remarked, breathlessly. 

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked. “You seem a bit out of sorts”

“Well dear, we did just both narrowly avoid discorporation via the bombing of a church, so forgive me if I look a bit shaken up”.

“Right.” Crowley responded awkwardly. “Right. OK angel. Hop in! I’ll drop you at the bookshop”.

The ride to the Aziraphale’s shop was a harrowing one. Crowley, predictably drove like a madman. But Aziraphale was glad of the distraction. Clinging to the window frame and bracing himself against the dashboard of the Bentley kept his mind away from wanting to spill his feelings out to Crowley like a lovesick fool. 

Soon they were pulling up outside the bookshop. Crowley parked the car, haphazardly in the empty, rubble strewn street and cut the engine, and they both sat for a moment in awkward silence. Aziraphale’s heart was pounding in his ears and he had to struggle not to turn his head and gaze at Crowley in the seat next to him. The smell of the demon’s fancy cologne, though subtle, was making his head spin.

“Would you… care to come in for a drink?” Aziraphale asked tremulously, hating the fact that his voice betrayed his incredible nervousness. 

“Sure” Crowley replied casually, and Aziraphale felt his heart leap in his chest. They exited the car, and Aziraphale swiftly unlocked the bookshop and lead Crowley inside. He kept it mostly dark, preferring to light a single lamp, deep in the recesses of his back room and went to fetch a bottle of wine. He returned to find Crowley lounging across the small couch, and so he poured them both a drink and sat down in the armchair to the demon’s right. They both sipped their wine in silence for what felt like a long time, until Aziraphale finally worked up the nerve to speak. 

“When did you wake up?” he asked. Crowley, surprised by the sudden break in the silence of the back room, jumped slightly at the sound of the angel’s question. 

“Oh… well… a few years ago” he replied sheepishly

“ _ A few years ago?! _ ” Aziraphale couldn’t help but raise his voice. “Crowley! Whyever did it take so long for you to contact me?” He felt a pang of disappointed pain lance through his chest at the idea that Crowley had been up and about for so long without seeking Aziraphale out. 

“Well angel.. I… I don’t know.” Hedged Crowley, taking a sip of his wine while he appeared to work on an appropriate response. “I suppose” he continued “that I wasn’t sure how you’d take to hearing from me again. After… you know. Our little fight”

“Oh Crowley” Aziraphale sighed in fond exasperation “How could you believe that I’d still be angry after all this time?”

“I don’t know” Crowley mumbled into his wine glass. “Just wasn’t sure you’d be happy to see me”

“Well, I’m quite happy to see you” Aziraphale said softly, in what was probably the hugest understatement of his life. “I…missed you, you know” he cast his eyes away from Crowley’s face and down into his own wine glass, feeling his cheeks catch on fire at the boldness of his words. 

“Wish I could say the same angel, but for me, it was only a few years.” 

Aziraphale felt his heart sink at Crowley’s words, so casual and unaffected. 

“Either way, I’m glad to be here with you though” the demon continued. “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble while I was napping.”

Aziraphale smiled despite himself. “Only a little bit dearest. Just the thing with the Nazis. Other than that, it’s been relatively uneventful.” He realized a little too late that he’d called Crowley the rather blatant term  _ dearest _ . A word he’d never used for Crowley before now. But if the demon noticed, he kept it to himself. 

They talked amiably long into the night, and Aziraphale slowly relaxed back into the reassuring pattern of their millennia old acquaintance. He told Crowley all about his trip to America and his friendship with Wilde and his experiences leading up to the war. Crowley listened politely, but once Aziraphale had finished, he remarked quietly

“I got all of your notes angel. I read them all.” He then reached into the breast pocket of the dark jacket he wore and drew out a tidy bundle of papers, wrapped in a black ribbon and showed it to Aziraphale. “See.” he said, as if trying to prove something to the angel, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure what. 

He felt a swell of affection at learning that Crowley had kept all of his notes. It meant that their connection was important to the demon. 

Soon, Crowley said it was time for him to make his way home. He had purchased a penthouse flat several streets over, and though he’d warded it heavily against damage of any kind (both his flat and Aziraphale’s bookshop were untouched among the ruins of many a bombed out London residence), he still wanted to get home to do some cleaning up. 

They stood and Aziraphale walked Crowley to the door of the shop. He stood there for a moment, not wanting to say goodnight, but lacking a real excuse to keep Crowley any longer. As Crowley reached out to grasp the doorknob to let himself out of the shop, saying a warm “night angel”, Aziraphale grabbed him gently by the arm to stop him from going. 

The demon turned a surprised expression towards the angel, and froze in place. It was rare that they touched, and so Aziraphale knew Crowley was a little taken aback by his hand on the demon’s arm. “I wanted to say thank you” Aziraphale began shakily, his face burning and his knees feeling like jelly all of a sudden.

“Don’t say that!” Crowley was predictably grumpy over being thanked. “It was nothing angel.”

“It wasn’t nothing” Aziraphale insisted. “Those books were very important to me.”. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to Crowley. Without stopping to think he reached up and gently, slowly removed Crowley’s shades from his face, going at a pace that would allow the demon to stop him if he wanted to, but Crowley let him pull the glasses away without complaint. His yellow eyes, soft but somewhat guarded over being revealed without warning, gazed into Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Thank you” he repeated softly, and raising himself up on his tip toes just a bit, he leaned in and pressed his lips very gently against Crowley’s. The kiss was chaste and brief and oh so soft, and yet Aziraphale could feel his insides turn to liquid fire as their lips touched. He pulled back swiftly, suddenly quite breathless, and looked up to see Crowley’s surprised expression in the wake of their kiss. 

“Goodnight then” he said brusquely and stepped away from Crowley, who was still looking at him with a dazed expression on his face. He handed Crowley’s glasses back to him and opened the door. “There you go” he said, ushering Crowley out onto the street. “I’ll see you soon yes?”

“Yeah angel. Soon” Crowley seemed out of sorts as he put his shades back in place and sauntered out to the Bentley. He got in and drove off with a squeal of tires, leaving Aziraphale to stare after him, one hand pressed gently to his lips. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my interpretation of "you go too fast for me Crowley". This line is a little cryptic, and I love all the interpretations of it within this fandom. I always thought it was strange that in 1941, Aziraphale is looking at Crowley like he's the most delicious piece of cake he's ever seen, but then the next time we see them, he's telling Crowley to essentially slow down (slow down romantically being the way lots of people may interpret it). So I filled in my own gaps. Maybe my headcannon matches yours? 
> 
> emilycare is my lovely beta reader. Thank you dear for all your help! I'm looking forward to less cringing when I reread my fics. :D
> 
> As always, thank you all for your support and your lovely comments!

Twenty seven years later, Crowley watched, confused and hurt as Aziraphale walked stiffly away from the Bentley, the red neon signs flashing on the street around him turning his white hair pink in blinking intervals...

_ You go too fast for me _ _ , _ _ Crowley _ .

_ What in all nine circles of bloody Hell did that mean?? Too fast? _ Was the angel complaining about Crowley’s driving? That seemed unlikely, as Aziraphale had had almost thirty years to make his criticisms of the demon’s rather imaginative driving known. And he’d done so. Quite clearly and enthusiastically. 

Crowley carefully sat the tartan thermos full of holy water down on the passenger seat of the Bentely and swiftly exited the car. 

“Hey!” he yelled after the angel . “Hey! What did that mean?!”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, his back stiff as a board. He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t keep walking either. Aziraphale had managed to cross the street and Crowley swiftly caught up with him. He grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and pulled him gently around to face the demon, where they both stood on the sidewalk. The street wasn’t very crowded on a Wednesday evening, and so Crowley dared to remove his shades and sought out the angel’s large, hazel eyes with his own. Aziraphale wouldn’t meet his gaze however, keeping his eyes trained down at the pavement between them. 

“Hey , ” Crowley said again, softly this time “what do you mean ‘too fast’ angel? I get the feeling you’re not talking about my driving”

Aziraphale shook his head “No Crowley , ” he said in a small, sad voice “I wasn’t referring to your driving . ”

“Well then, what the heaven did you mean that I go too fast for you? I’m confused angel. And why do you look so sad? Like someone stole a pastry off your plate. What’s going on?” 

Their relationship had largely progressed like usual after Crowley had woken up from his long nap. After a brief period of readjustment, they’d continued meeting every few months for dinner or a chat. They still had to be careful not to be seen, still had to put up celestial and demonic wards to keep themselves hidden from prying eyes, but something had changed between them since that night after the bombing of the church. Aziraphale had become quieter than he used to be. More polite somehow, less cheerfully effusive. Crowley had followed his lead and had backed off a little, and the angel had seemed to become even more withdrawn in response. 

This little seesaw of distance between them made Crowley very anxious. He was used to a beaming, blushing, friendly Aziraphale. Not this nervous, stiff Aziraphale whose smiles and chuckles seemed hard won and precious. When Aziraphale did not respond, Crowley stepped a little closer and gripped the angel by his cream-clad shoulders. “Look at me , ” he said urgently. “Come on angel. Look me in the eyes. I need to know what’s happening with you… with us , ” he finished quietly.

Aziraphale did raise his eyes to meet Crowley’s and Crowley was shocked by the sadness in them. “Crowley…” he began haltingly, and Crowley gave a little encouraging nod to urge him on. “As you know, my side… well they wouldn’t be very happy to know that we’ve been… so… close , ” he finished. Crowley noticed with relief that he avoided using the F-Word (“Fraternizing”). “Well, I spoke to Gabriel recently..”

_ Oh no _ .. Crowley groaned inwardly at the mention of Aziraphale’s stuffy supervisor.  _ What does that wanker have to say I wonder? _ he thought uncharitably. 

“He implied heavily that he might know that we’re .. um.. Connected. He didn’t come out and say it. He just .. well.. Implied it. And if he finds out about our…” Here the angel gulped and paused for a moment, as if searching for the right word, “connection, that, well he’ll pull me back Upstairs and tell Hell to come and arrest you.”

“We’ve always known that angel” Crowley replied softly. “You yourself told me that if Hell finds out about The Arrangement that they’ll destroy me. Why do you think I asked you for that holy water? Why is it we put up these wards and protections? This is old news.”

“I know it is , ”  replied Aziraphale, still looking incredibly sad. “It’s just that before, well, we met less often. We saw one another every few centuries, not every few months. And… and…” he appeared to struggle inwardly for a moment before continuing. “And.. before, I’m not sure why, but it felt like there was less to lose.”

“What’s changed angel?” Crowley asked, though he knew inside his heart what had changed for him. He’d gone from hiding his love for Aziraphale deep down inside and denying its existence, to letting that love run rampant through him like a herd of wild horses galloping down a hillside in the spring. But he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale felt the same way. The angel loved everything didn’t he? And that probably included Crowley, but it couldn’t be possible that a being of such light and beauty and pure (if sometimes obnoxious), angelic goodness could love a broken, burnt demon like himself in the hopeless, ardent way that Crowley loved Aziraphale.. 

“Things are.. More important now , ” Aziraphale said cryptically. “And when I said that you go too fast for me, it’s that you.. Well you push us together. You seek me out and you treat me like a f-friend, and you just don’t seem to care that you’re risking your life to spend time with me.” He looked up at Crowley and the demon was shocked to see tears in the angel’s eyes for the first time since the flood. “What I suppose I mean to say Crowley, is that this.. this thing we have between us, whatever you want to call it.. Is it worth you dying over?”

Crowley leapt at the chance to reassure the angel. “Yes! Yes Aziraphale, of course it’s worth it! You and I.. we… well.. We have something very special here. We keep each other company don’t we? We lend a hand when needed. Knowing you.. Knowing you has..” here, he reached a precipice, and was suddenly faced with the prospect of flinging himself off it into empty, open space, hoping beyond hope that Aziraphale would catch him as he fell. 

_ Knowing you has brought me closer to forgiving God than anything else has in six thousand years... _

_ Knowing you has broken my heart open and filled me with an undying love…. _

_ Knowing you has been torture because all I want to do is take you in my arms and kiss you over and over and you keep standing there, so pure and unmoved and it’s killing me... _

“Knowing you has been really fantastic angel. Having you around makes earth a lot more fun , ” he said lamely, backing away from the precipice and hating himself for being a coward. 

“Oh. Well yes of course , ” Aziraphale remarked stiffly. “Knowing you has made earth fun for me too. But fun isn’t worth dying for. And every time you come around, yelling blasphemies and congratulating me for committing minor sins, all I can think is that you’re risking your life by being close to me. You just… you just go too fast Crowley.”

“I’ll slow down” Crowley said quickly, sensing that Aziraphale was pulling away, and certain that he’d somehow caused the distance between them, he scrambled to make it right again. “I’ll slow way down. We don’t have to see each other as often.. It will be hard for me, but.. But. if it makes you feel safer, then it’s worth it” 

“Why would it be hard for you?” Aziraphale asked. Of course he had to ask that. Had to make Crowley come up with something on the spot that wasn’t because  _ I’d die without you _ , or,  _ because I love you madly _ .

“Because, you.. You mean a lot to me angel , ” Crowley said, looking down at his feet and scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck.  _ There  _ he thought.  _ A little closer to the truth.  _

“You mean a lot to me , too , ” Aziraphale responded, his voice gentling a little with the honeyed tones fondness. “I just feel that you flaunt our association without enough caution. That you say and do things that make it obvious that we’re in cahoots as it were. As if you didn’t fear for your life, or for mine. And that’s what I mean by ‘going too fast’. I want us both around to enjoy the scenery for a long time yet, and you sometimes tempt fate with your irreverent words , my dear.”

“I understand , angel. I do. I’ll try harder to keep myself in line. You’re right. This is dangerous what we’re doing here. I’m not taking it as seriously as I should . ” He fervently hoped he sounded earnest enough to convince Aziraphale of his sincerity. The alternative was to risk Aziraphale walking away and maybe not coming back for a while, or for his fear and sadness to increase when they were together. Having their connection be something that caused Aziraphale pain was an unbearable thought for Crowley

Aziraphale executed a small, weak smile and Crowley felt hope flicker inside his heart. “Thank you , Crowley , for saying that. It means the world to me to hear that you take our safety seriously.” 

“Of course , ” Crowley replied. He reached up and gave the angel’s shoulders another squeeze, reveling in how good it felt to touch Aziraphale for even a moment, before dropping his hands and stepping back. “Well angel, It’s late. And because of you, I can go home to my flat, secure in the knowledge that I don’t have to orchestrate the robbing of a church tomorrow, so thank you . ”

“Don’t say that , Crowley. Remember? Never say thank you . ”

“Yeah, angel. Never say thank you. I remember. Instead, I’ll just say goodnight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved episode three, Hard Times, for the pure fact that it's so very romantic. Basically an Aziraphale and Crowley flirt fest through the centuries. And it always struck me as a little strange how in the years leading up to the Antichrist's 11th birthday, that their relationship seemed more distant. More like bros than pining soft boys. So I decided to add my own little twist to the story behind the scenes...add some angst around their connection that might keep them from the type of behavior you see in 1601 or 1941 or 1967. 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta reader emilycare <3 Your help is much appreciated!!

For the intervening years between 1967 and 2008, they continued on as they’d always done, but there was a professionalism, a caution that now laced its way through their interactions. Crowley was true to his word, and didn’t push Aziraphale with flirtatious jokes or irreverent declarations. He doubled down on his watchfulness and treated the angel a bit more stiffly than before. Gone were the soft voiced reassurances, the gentle touches to the shoulder or the arm. They still drank into the night and joked and laughed behind closed doors, but kept their public relationship less flamboyant and less affectionate. Even in private, Crowley dared not look at Aziraphale for too long when he wasn’t wearing his shades, and he could feel Aziraphale putting up a patrician wall of politeness between them. The angel was still warm, but from a distance. 

  
  


Crowley hated it. But what else could he do? Aziraphale was clearly terrified that his sassy, risky behavior would land them both imprisoned or worse, permanently destroyed. The threat of discovery hung over their heads all the time, and still… still, it was worth it for the somewhat muted but highly enjoyable time he spent with the angel. Slowly but surely he grew accustomed to the lack of Aziraphale’s soft, glowing looks and blushing smiles. The angel was snippier and more critical, but he also engaged in ribbing Crowley now and again which the demon respected and enjoyed. 

  
  


And then Armageddon reared its ugly head. Crowley pulled the Bentley up in the graveyard of a church to meet with Hastur and Ligur, expecting a normal check in call and instead found himself handed a large wicker basket full of gurgling, cooing antichrist. He’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the Apocalypse was around the corner, but his enjoyment of all the pleasures earth had to offer (tempting and drinking and laughing with his beautiful if distant angel) had distracted him from the realization that it would come to pass. It was foretold, wasn’t it?

  
  


He went straight to a phone box to call Aziraphale, asking to talk to him. And that was how they’d ended up drunk as skunks, holed up in the shop, empty bottles of wine festooning every available surface in Aziraphale’s small sitting room. 

  
  


When the gravity of the coming end of all things because too much to cope with, they’d sobered up and hatched the (admittedly mad cap and ridiculous) plan of working together to help influence the new antichrist towards normalcy.. towards neutrality. Crowley hoped and prayed that it would work. If not, they were truly doomed. 

  
  


It was decided that Crowley would pose as the boy’s nanny. He was far more well- versed in fashion and he made a rather convincing human woman when his hair was done up in pin curls and his lips were painted red. Aziraphale, whose broad shoulders and deeper voice wouldn’t suit a spinster nanny as well as Crowley would, chose the role of gardener. He’d read enough books on flora and fauna to give any real gardener or groundskeeper a run for their money. 

  
  
  


They tried on their disguises for each other and talked for a while about plans once they arrived at the Dowling’s estate. It was a long shot, but it just might work. It would take a simple snap of Crowley’s fingers to convince the Dowlings that nanny Astoreth was the perfect caretaker for their little boy. And Aziraphale? Well, his brother Francis was just incredibly likable. It was at times difficult for Crowley to tell if Aziraphale used celestial magic to get what he wanted, or if he accomplished his goals with only the help of his lovely, angelic smile. Not that brother Francis’s smile fell easily into the category of “lovely”. The elderly gardener was ruddy faced and buck toothed and had a rough, homespun, western country accent, but what he lacked in beauty, he more than made up for in charm (and random horticultural knowledge). 

  
  


After they had a solid plan in place, they returned to drinking. Heavily. There was something ill-fated and a bit desperate about the night. They both knew that The End was approaching. They both knew that if they failed in their attempts to avert the coming Apocalypse that they’d end up destroyed — or worse— being ordered to fight one another in the Great Battle that was to come. Crowley knew he would never be able to harm Aziraphale, and that Aziraphale would (hopefully) never be able to harm Crowley. If it came down to Crowley having to take up a weapon against his beloved friend, he’d rather sacrifice his own life to protect the angel, than touch a hair on that beautiful head.

  
  


As the wine bottles went from full to empty (again), and as Crowley felt the warm burn of the alcohol work its way quickly through his system, making him loose and wobbly, he dared to relax for a while and just enjoy Aziraphale’s company. They were sitting together now, on the sofa, legs almost touching, gripping their respective wine glasses and talking of silly things. Aziraphale’s spoke of his newest efforts to keep any actual customers from buying any of his beloved books, and Crowley’s told the angel about his latest temptation, involving a lonely widow and a barely legal takeout delivery boy that had ended up sinfully embarrassing for everyone involved. Aziraphale had chuckled openly at Crowley’s bawdy story, and a little of the old, glowing happiness had bloomed in his face when he looked at Crowley. 

  
  


Crowley, as if pulled inexorably forward by the beauty and affection of this rare smile, turned in his seat next to Aziraphale, leaned forward, and drunkenly pressed his lips against the angel’s in a clumsy kiss. He heard Aziraphale’s sudden, surprised intake of breath and felt the angel stiffen slightly. A part of his brain that was still being responsible was screaming quietly at him to pull back, but the part of him that was love-drunk and lonely and on fire for touch from the angel, told him to stay right where he was and see what happened. 

  
  


What happened was that Aziraphale _kissed him back_ . His stiffness lasted only a moment, before the angel gave a soft little moan and opened his mouth against Crowley’s. He leaned back against the sofa, banishing their wine glasses with a snap of his fingers, submitting and melting under Crowley’s lips in a way that made intense, sharp pangs of lust bloom deep inside Crowley’s lower stomach. Crowley swiftly climbed into Aziraphale’s lap and deepened the kiss further as Aziraphale grabbed him by the hips and groaned in response. Crowley rolled his pelvis, pressing them together, and now it was his turn to moan as he felt the evidence of the angel’s desire rub up against his own with a tingling friction that took his breath away. “Oh _fuck_ .. Oh _angel_ ,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s mouth, only to have Aziraphale swiftly capture his lips again and kiss him in a way that no angel should have been capable of. Aziraphale ate hungrily at his mouth, sucking on his lower lip and slipping a thick, hot tongue languidly inside Crowley’s mouth to twist and play with Crowley’s tongue. Crowley’s body was on fire and his breath escaped his lungs in swift blasts through his nose as the kiss continued and grew more urgent.. 

  
  


Aziraphale had both hands on Crowley’s hips, gripping him, pulling him in tight against his thick, stiffness with a desperate heat that had Crowley breaking their kiss to gasp out a hoarse, half-cry, half-sob. There was no time to get undressed. No time to make it to a bedroom. All either of them seemed capable of was this desperate rubbing together over their clothes, their mouths locked and busily working with slick, wet urgency. 

  
  


It was over quickly. Azriaphale’s hips were making sharp, erratic thrusts upwards against Crowley and the angel’s thick strong hands had Crowley’s arse in a tight grip, pulling him closer still. Crowley braced himself with his hands against Aziraphale’s strong chest, and held himself steady and tight against the angel’s desperate, tense movements. He let Aziraphale control the pace and pressure, let the angel work himself against Crowley how he wanted to. Soon, Aziraphale was trembling and making little, high pitched keening noises against Crowley’s lips and Crowley could feel himself tightening, reaching a peak of intense pleasure where their bodies met. With a low groan, he exploded inside his pants, feeling a hot wetness spilling underneath the tight fabric. Shortly afterwards, he felt Aziraphale shudder beneath him as the angel also lost control and came, his moans against Crowley’s lips turning to muffled sobs of release. 

  
  


The waves of intense pleasure slowly ebbed away, and Aziraphale’s thrusts against Crowley became less and less urgent as they both came down from the high of their orgasms. Crowley wound his fingers in the angel’s soft hair and kept kissing Aziraphale for a long time afterwards, not caring that his semen was a swiftly cooling mess inside his tight jeans, not caring that they were probably going to have to deal with what just happened somehow that wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them. He kept kissing Aziraphale with all the love and desire he’d felt for millennia, and to his complete and utter happiness, Aziraphale kissed him back. 

  
  


Eventually though, their lips slowed and stopped. Crowley pulled back to look into Aziraphale’s eyes, which were dilated and glowing with recently spent passion. The angel’s cheeks were pink and his lovely soft mouth was bruised with Crowley’s kisses. “You’re beautiful angel” he said with a slow smile. “So beautiful”.

  
  


Aziraphale returned his smile, but then his eyes grew sad and Crowley’s heart clenched at the sight of the sex-drunk afterglow fleeing the angel’s face, to be replaced with a familiar apprehension. “Come on now angel. Don’t worry. Don’t be like that. We’ll be fine. It will all work out.” He hoped beyond hope that he could placate Aziraphale’s fears and keep up this delicious intimate, mood between them. Maybe if he could assuage Aziraphale’s concerns they might even move to the bedroom and rid themselves of these pesky clothes that kept him from exploring more of the angel’s soft skin. 

  
  


Sadly, Aziraphale was not to be placated. He gently pushed Crowley off of his lap with an apologetic wince and snapped himself clean. Crowley did the same and found himself sitting awkwardly next to Aziraphale, feeling suddenly miserable and uncomfortable and cold without the angel's heat to warm him.

  
  


“That can’t happen again Crowley”, Aziraphale’s voice sounded choked with emotion. “We can’t… we can’t be this way with each other again. It’s not safe. Not now.”

  
  


“Yeah. I know angel. I know,” Crowley pretended to be on the same page with Aziraphale, rather than tell him the truth, that he wanted them to ‘be that way with each other’ over and over again until their strength was gone and they ended up wrapped around one another on an utterly ruined bed. “It’s not safe. I know.”

  
  


He sighed and got up, straightening his dark jacket and silk shirt and running his fingers through his long, now slightly sweat damp, ginger hair. He swiftly found his glasses and put them back on, blessedly hiding his hurt eyes from Aziraphale. “I think it’s time I went home anyway,” he mumbled, unable to look directly at the angel who still sat on the couch, hands clutched in his lap. 

  
  


“Very well then” Aziraphale responded, his tone stiff and cool. “I’ll see you at the Dowlings tomorrow shall I?”

  
  


“Yeah, but like you said, it’s not safe for us to be too intimate, so maybe we should keep our distance while we help young Warlock, no?” Crowley forced the words out of his mouth, hating that he was saying this, but knowing that he couldn’t bear being near Aziraphale now that he’d had a taste of what their lovemaking might be like, only to have it ripped away again. He was a demon, but his heart could still break. 

  
  


“Yes, I think that would be for the best Crowley. Good idea, my dear.” The ‘my dear’ lacked much of the warmth and affection Aziraphale usually infused it with, and Crowley felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. 

  
  


“Very well then, goodnight angel.” Crowley didn’t wait for Aziraphale to reply, or give him time to walk the demon to the door. He swiftly left the shop, hearing the jangle of the bell over the door, a sound that normally filled him with a tingle of anticipation over seeing the angel, this time, ringing hollow in his ears. 

  
  


They had a job to do now, he told himself. They had to work hard to avert the Apocalypse. Nothing else mattered now. Not his ardent love for Aziraphale. Not the memory of the angel’s thick, warm body moving beneath him, nor the feel of the angel’s lips against his own. Those were distractions that would get them both caught and punished, and worse, might pull them away from their successful thwarting of the end of their beloved earth, away from the averting of all those useless deaths at the hands of vengeful angels and demons that lurked menacingly, a little over a decade away.

He’d just have to keep focused and keep his head in the game. And Aziraphale had made it quite clear that what they’d done could not be repeated, even though Crowley longed with every fiber of his being, both corporeal and infernal to do it again, and again, and again in as many different ways as possible. 

He forced down a sudden, very vivid picture that bloomed in his mind of Aziraphale, gloriously naked and pinned beneath him in a large, soft bed and climbed into the Bentley to head home. All that mattered now, all that _could_ matter was their work towards saving their beloved earth. Crowley sped off into the night, resolute in his commitment to help Aziraphale avert the Apocalypse, yet still struggling to banish the memories of the angel, hot and willing and kissing him with lips like silk.


	9. Chapter 9

Their time at the Dowlings had been both difficult and enjoyable by turns. Enjoyable because despite their intense self absorbtion and the shoddy state of their marriage, the Dowlings were fair bosses, and quite wealthy. They’d provided Nanny Astoreth with a lovely set of rooms on the west side of the large estate where they lived, and brother Francis had his own little one room cottage, separated from the house, out in the vast gardens to the east. They both ate very well. Or rather brother Francis ate well. Nanny Astoreth contented herself with small bites here and there, along with a cup of coffee and was perfectly happy to get most of her calories from a few glasses of wine in the evenings. 

Caring for Warlock was also an unexpected pleasure. The boy was quite lovely really, curious, precocious and thoughtful by turns. He adored his nanny and would cling to Astoreth’s skirts and beg her for hugs and bedtime stories when he was a wee lad. He would also sit and talk with brother Francis, sometimes for hours while the old man planted fresh tulips or begonias along the many walkways of the Dowling’s gardens. 

The difficult part came in keeping away from one another. Aziraphale knew that he’d told Crowley that they couldn’t repeat what they’d done in the back room of the bookshop again, but he still dreamed of it more often than any respectable, elderly gardener should. Watching nanny Astoreth’s slender, dark clad form sway by as she walked the grounds with their young charge was sometimes painful. He couldn’t help but notice how lovely her hair looked under her austere little hats, or how the tight fit of her woolen jackets outlined her pleasing figure. He banished those thoughts repeatedly, knowing that although the angel he truly was underneath his disguise was madly in love with the demon in the dark dress, brother Francis could not be in love with nanny Astoreth. At least that’s what he thought anyway, until Warlock, smart boy that he was, caught onto the situation with the sharp, unsettling clarity that young children often possess when observing adult behavior. 

“You want to marry nanny don’t you?” Warlock had asked one afternoon while following Francis around the grounds, with a basket of fresh picked tomatoes grasped in his little fist. 

Brother Francis had spluttered and coughed violently before gaining control of his faculties and responding to the young boy. “Now whyever would you say that young master Warlock?”

“Well, because you look at her all the time. Just like the men look at the women in mommy’s soap operas. Your eyes get all shiny and you get all red when she’s around”

Francis had no real come back to this statement, but he felt he must at least try to assuage the child’s suspicions. “I … um… I certainly  _ like _ nanny Astoreth. She’s a fine woman. Quite intelligent. Very good at her job.”

Warlock however, was not to be dissuaded. “Is that why you always sigh when she walks away?” and just to hammer the nail in the coffin of embarrassment currently closing in around brother Francis, the young lad affected a deep, romantic sigh with a dramatic flourish. “Aaaaahhhhhhh. Like that,” he finished, looking up at Francis with the innocent eyes of a child who’s just stabbed indelicately at the heart of a very adult issue with perfect aim and stunning accuracy. 

“I do no such thing!” Declared brother Francis desperately. 

“It’s OK brother Francis” Warlock said softly, slipping his small hand into Francis’s large, calloused one and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t tell her.”. 

__________________________________________

Six years flew by, even faster than a short period of time like that would normally take to transpire for a pair of immortal beings such as Aziraphale and Crowley. In the veritable blink of an eye, Warlock had grown to an almost-eleven-year old boy, and plans for his birthday party were underway. 

Little did the boy know, but a Hell Hound would show up at three o’clock that day, so that he could name it and ascend to his rightful place as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel Of The Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World and Lord of Darkness. Aziraphale was very nervous about the Hell Hound situation, and honestly a bit unsettled that Crowley hadn’t told him about it before now. Crowley, as usual, dismissed the angel’s concerns with a casual shrug of his black clad shoulders “No one will notice anything. It’s reality angel.” He’d sounded resigned, which hadn’t made the angel feel any better.

Aziraphale was shocked and dismayed to hear Crowley suggest that they might kill the boy to stop the Armageddon, but he supposed desperate times and all that… He couldn’t bear the thought of murdering a child, let alone the sweet little boy they’d both helped to raise. Even  _ if _ he had become something of an obnoxious teenager as he’d grown older. Not even to save  _ everything _ . Crowley also couldn’t bring himself murder the Antichrist, and Aziraphale assumed he’d brought it up simply to see if the angel could find it in himself to engage in a bit of avenging. But Aziraphale had never been that sort of angel, and Crowley knew it, for he let the subject drop quickly. 

As the date of the Armageddon drew closer, things grew more tense. The boy had not shown any signs of being special, and Aziraphale had held out hope that their plan had worked, surprisingly well in fact. It wasn’t until 3:05pm on the day of the boy’s birthday party that they both realized that something had gone terribly wrong. 

No dog. 

Wrong boy. 

_________________________________

Things didn’t get much better when they visited the Tadfield convent and discovered a large group of men and women in camouflage, sporting paint guns, instead of a group of satanic nuns as they’d hoped. Crowley had turned all their paint guns to real guns, but of course, because he was a big softy, he’d also protected them from actually killing each other. Aziraphale had felt a rush of affection for the demon and had made the apparent mistake of calling him “nice”. Crowley had pushed Aziraphale up against a wall, his body flush against the angel’s and had hissed into Aziraphale’s face that he was  _ not nice. _ Aziraphale had struggled mightily with the urge to shut Crowley’s mouth up with his own. To grab Crowley back and just kiss him, kiss away the anger and frustration he saw behind the dark shades that were suddenly shoved into his face. He knew the intervening years since they’d been intimate hadn’t been easy for either of them. He knew that Crowley was feeling increasing pressure from his head office (as was Aziraphale from his). Tensions were high, and so Crowley had snapped. 

Still, had they not been interrupted by the woman who’d once been Sister Mary Loquacious, the demon’s body pressed so tightly against his own would have swiftly caused a quite embarrassing biological reaction to occur. 

They learned that they had indeed followed the wrong boy. This set off a chain of events, involving the hitting of a rather severe young American woman with Crowley’s car, which lead to Aziraphale becoming the shocked and awed accidental owner of the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. 

It was then that the rift between them grew even wider. Aziraphale still felt loyalty to his side. He’d spent too many thousands of years as an angel to just throw caution to the wind and throw his lot in completely with a demon. Heaven represented a reassuring stability and normalcy to Aziraphale, whereas Crowley represented chaos and disorder. Despite his deep well of love for Crowley, Aziraphale was terrified. Terrified of defying the mighty power of Heaven. Terrified of risking Crowley’s life or his own, or both through their connection. 

By the time they met at the bandstand, Aziraphale was in full on panic mode. It hurt him to keep secrets from Crowley about the book of prophecy, about knowing where the Antichrist was (broadly). Crowley’s casual-seeming request, made in a husky voice full of feeling, that they run away together had taken Aziraphale completely by surprise. In a split second he saw a beautiful image of he and Crowley, somewhere safe and together at last. Free to touch, to kiss, to declare their feelings out loud without fear of reprisal. It was a beautiful image. A dream really. And it faded swiftly under the onslaught of Aziraphale’s heavy load of guilt and anxiety surrounding his loyalties to Heaven. The look on Crowley’s face when he’d told the demon that they weren’t on the same side, that it was over, well, it broke Aziraphale’s heart. The sight of Crowley, lanky arms swinging defiantly as he strode stiffly away from the bandstand, made Aziraphale wish desperately to take back what he’d said. But he couldn’t. Too much was at stake. 

The demon had tried a second time to get Aziraphale to run away with him, off to the stars, to Alpha Centauri of all places. Aziraphale had been certain though that if he could just get in touch with the Almighty, that he could explain this whole mess and get Her to intervene. He’d told Crowley that he forgave him. Forgave him for all his transgressions, for his doubts and blasphemies, for his unkind words.. For being a demon in general. The look on Crowley’s face, frustration and grief and disappointment had broken Aziraphale’s heart a second time in one day. 

And then there was Aziraphale’s inconvenient discorporation to deal with. And Crowley saying “I lost my best friend” with a look of such misery and pain on his face. Aziraphale hadn’t known how to respond. “So sorry to hear it,”, he’d said, like a fool. As if he hadn’t known Crowley was referring to him. 

He’d found a body and a ride to Tadfield, and then things had gone wonky very quickly.

All of their pain and work had culminated in a massive showdown on the Tadfield airbase. It was shocking really that they’d ended up still alive and not permanently discorporated, all because a small boy had told the Lord of Darkness that He wasn’t his real father. 

_____________________________________________

  
  


As they sat together on the bus back to London, Aziraphale’s head was spinning with exhaustion and confusion. The slip of paper with the cryptic prophecy from Agnes’ book was stuck in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he had no clue what it meant. He had no idea what to do now. Now that they’d actively defied their bosses and had averted their precious Apocalypse. They were free floating agents at this point. Refugeies.

Aziraphale was surprised to feel Crowley interlace their fingers on the seat between them. He looked over at the demon and saw a pair of dark shades above a soft smile looking back at him. He gave Crowley a return smile of his own, a sad, wistful one. 

_ We’re on our own side _ That’s what Crowley had said at the bus stop, and Aziraphale supposed he was right. There was no point in pretending allegiance with Heaven any longer. But where were they headed now? Surely Gabriel and Beelzebub would not simply let them go. They’d won a brief repreve, but for how long?

The bus, and its very confused driver, pulled up outside of Crowley’s flat and they disembarked, both of them stumbling to the door in an exhausted haze. Aziraphale had rebuffed Crowley yet again while they’d sat at the bus stop, sharing a bottle of wine, saying that his side wouldn’t like it if he spent the night at Crowley’s, but now, he felt a fool for pushing the demon away so many times. The minute they got upstairs, he turned and addressed Crowley saying “I’m sorry my dear for turning you down back there. I’d be ever so grateful if I could spend the night here.”

“Yeah angel. Of course. You’re always welcome here.” Crowley said over his shoulder as he sauntered off to the kitchen to get them some more wine. Aziraphale sat uncomfortably on Crowley’s large, black leather sofa and waited for the demon to return. 

Once they’d been settled with their drinks, Aziraphale dared to address some uncomfortable subjects. 

“About the bandstand,” he began

“Don’t give it a second thought.” Crowley waved his hand dismissively in the air between them, but Aziraphale was not to be put off.

“No Crowley. No. I was wrong. I said things I shouldn’t have said. I was so very frightened, and all you wanted to do was to help us. I pushed you away, and I’m very sorry for that. I wish I could take it back.”

“Consider it forgotten” Crowley said, knocking back the last of his glass of wine and placing it on the austere coffee table in front of the sofa. It naturally filled itself back up again. “We both said things that weren’t fair.”

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t know what to do or say next. The night was a strange one to say the very least, and they were in a new place now, without the old script they were so used to following. 

“I don’t want to push you away any longer Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, looking down at his hands in his lap, his face heating with the rare and vulnerable things he wanted to say. “I think now that.. that we’ve made ourselves into a pair of fugitives, well.. There really isn’t a reason for it any longer.”

Crowley had grown very still beside him. “What do you mean angel?” he asked, voice gruff, face expressionless. He looked suddenly coiled, poised on the edge of some sudden movement. Aziraphale was reminded vividly of Crowley’s days as a snake.

“I mean my dear that,... that I don’t see the point in keeping you at arms length any longer. And if it’s alright with you, I’d rather like it if… if we could get a bit closer”.

Crowley was moving before the last of the words were even out of Aziraphale’s mouth. He swiftly left his seat on the sofa and was soon kneeling before Aziraphale on the floor. He flung his shades across the room and swiftly insinuated himself between Aziraphale’s knees. He wrapped his arms around the angel and buried his face in the warm juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. “Mmmff” he mumbled against Azirapahle’s skin. 

Aziraphale was only taken back for a brief moment before returning the demon’s embrace and pulling him close. They stayed like that for several minutes, simply luxuriating in being in each other’s arms after many years of strained distance between them. Aziraphale let his hands roam gently over Crowley’s back, rubbing little, reassuring circles across his sharp shoulder blades and down over his ribs, and the demon veritably purred with happiness, nuzzling his face a bit deeper into Aziraphale’s neck and tightening his arms around the angel. 

After a few more moments, Aziraphale gripped Crowley gently by the shoulders and pulled him up into his lap, letting the demon’s long legs rest on the sofa next to him while cradling Crowley’s upper body in his arms. He kissed his demon’s lips lovingly, slowly, tenderly as he felt Crowley melt against him and heard him sigh as if he’d just slipped into a warm bath on a cold winter night. They kissed for what felt like hours, Crowley’s face gripped lovingly in Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley’s fingers winding in Aziraphale’s hair. In between kisses, they murmured words of affection to each other. 

_ My demon... My sweet demon _

_ Yes my angel….. Yes  _

_ You’re mine aren’t you my darling?  _

_ Yes angel...yours forever. I thought I lost you today and I couldn’t bear it. _

_ You’ll never lose me again. We’ll find a way to stay together.  _

Aziraphale was so full of love for Crowley that his heart felt like it might burst in his chest. He could have easily ramped up their kisses and caresses to a passionate, sexual place, and he sensed that Crowley would follow him if he went there, but something about their embrace didn’t feel lustful. They were both sorely in need of affection and intimate touch, and both were exhausted from the trauma of the day, from thinking the world was truly about to end, and them along with it. And so they stayed that way on the sofa, wrapped up in each other’s arms, kissing languidly, and whispering sweet declarations for a long time. 

They ended up in a tangle of limbs, lying lengthwise together on the sofa, the demon slowly drifting off to sleep while Aziraphale watched him and stroked his hair and smiled indulgently at his drowsey snake. Crowley’s eyes would close and he’d seem to have finally fallen asleep, and then he would open them just a little and deliver another soft kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek or forehead or mouth, then he’d doze off again. It was heart wrenchingly endearing. Aziraphale felt cherished, loved, cared for. He felt warm and safe and incandescently happy for the first time since they’d last been physical together. 

The angel almost never slept, but tonight he was lulled by the smell of Crowley’s skin and the warmth of his long, slender body, (which, come to think of it, was probably just soaking up Aziraphale’s warmth and reflecting it back to him). Eventually, he felt himself drifting away, becoming weightless. He felt his body become warm and fuzzy and almost indistinct, as if the boundaries between him and Crowley were growing thinner and less defined as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

_______________________

Aziraphale awoke surrounded by warmth. And it felt  _ good _ . He couldn’t remember ever feeling this cozy before, as if he’d been cold for a long time and was finally, blissfully  _ warm enough. _ He was so comfortable in fact, that he resisted opening his eyes for a while. Where was he exactly?  _ Oh yes _ . With Crowley. Wrapped up in Crowley’s arms on the demon’s large, leather sofa. He could feel the give of the leather upholstery beneath him, and feel Crowley, warm and solid and thick in his arms. 

_ Thick?  _

Crowley was the opposite of thick. He was slender and angular, long and lean. It was something Aziraphale loved dearly about him, his charming lankiness. The person who rested in his arms now felt soft and plush, as if he were embracing a large, warm, very comfortable pillow. He cracked his eyes open a tiny bit, and was instantly horrified by what he saw. 

He saw  _ himself. _ But from  _ outside _ himself. His own face, eyes closed, apparently, still peacefully asleep. His own eyelashes, brushing his own pink cheeks. His own pert, upturned nose was pressed up against his cheek. It was disorienting and nauseating and terrifying. Aziraphale pushed himself away from the sleeping form of… well,  _ himself  _ and squeaked in alarm when he saw the long, slender fingers of his hands pressing against this far-too-familiar stranger’s chest in order to push himself away. This had the effect of waking up the creature wearing his skin. The other person’s eyes blinked open, large, and wide and hazel.. Just like Aziraphale’s eyes, and Aziraphale watched as a look of shocked horror spread swiftly across his own features. 

“What the heaven is going on here??!” his own voice sounded higher pitched than he was used to.. From the outside. 

“Who are you?!” Aziraphale yelled in a panic, sitting up and pushing this strange doppelganger’s thick, warm arms off and away. As he did so, he noticed that his own arms were long and slender and clad in black sleeves. “Who am  _ I _ ?!” He shrieked in alarm.

“Angel! Angel! Relax! It’s me!” The creature’s voice was Aziraphale’s voice, but… different. The inflection was all off. He sounded more cynical, without the genteel hesitancy of Aziraphale’s normal way of speaking. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale peered at the angel lying on the couch before him, wearing his face and his clothing and looking at him with a sort of shocked awe. “Is that you in there?”

“Yes angel! Yes. It’s me! You…  _ you look like me! _ ”

“No my dear. I beg to differ. It is most definitely  _ you _ who looks like  _ me _ ”

Crowley… or rather Crowley-as-Aziraphale gave him a wry look. “I think maybe you should take a glance at yourself in the mirror angel” he said, having the temerity to sound amused at Aziraphale’s confusion. He snapped his fingers and a tall, gold framed mirror appeared, hovering in the air in front of Aziraphale where he sat on the edge of the sofa. 

The angel looked into it and had another sickening moment of disorientation as he saw a familiar sight. Himself and Crowley. Only he was looking into the mirror from within Crowley’s body. He was  _ inside _ Crowley’s body. 

“Oh dear merciful God in Heaven,” he breathed, reaching a tentative hand up to stroke at the wild ginger hair that sprang from his head in spikes, standing on end just like Crowley’s did when he first woke up in the morning. “I’m you!”

“Yes angel, and I’m apparently you. Must say, I  _ am _ enjoying the view over here”

Aziraphale whipped his head around to see Crowley looking down at Aziraphale’s body with a devilish glint in his eye. “Crowley! This is not a laughing matter. This is serious!”

“I’m not actually joking angel. Your body is turning me on a little bit. Not gonna lie.”

Aziraphale rolled his (Crowley’s?) eyes and swiftly stood up from the couch, marveling briefly at how quickly he could move Crowley’s narrow, lithe body around. The demon weighed next to nothing and Aziraphale felt as if he might float up to the ceiling with the lightness of his slender frame. 

“What is the meaning of this I wonder?” He mused out loud. “The last thing I remember is drifting off to sleep, holding you in my arms.”

“Same here,” Crowley responded, absently stroking his hand up and down the angel’s thick thigh in a way that Aziraphale found highly distracting. 

All of a sudden, Aziraphale had a flash of insight. “Agnes Nutter!” he yelled. 

“Yeah. What about her?” Crowley asked. But then comprehension dawned. “Her prophecy! Yes angel! You’re right. She said ‘choose your faces wisely” didn’t she? We seemed to certainly have chosen different faces haven’t we? But… why?”

“I think I have some idea,” Aziraphale replied, crossing his unfamiliar skinny arms in front of his unfamiliar narrow chest. “I think we have the makings of a plan” he said. 


	10. Chapter 10

And plan they did. They spent the remainder of the night practicing each other’s mannerisms. This was concerning and hilarious by turns. Concerning because neither of them could quite affect each other’s speech and movements to perfection. Far from it in fact. Hilarious because watching one another try was highly entertaining. Even in the face of possible destruction, Aziraphale had to suppress a giggle at Crowley sashaying about the flat like a mincing, eighteenth century fop with a snuff box and a silk handkerchief, trying to impersonate Aziraphale. And Crowley laughed out loud and clutched at his (now rather plush) stomach while watching Aziraphale saunter around like a cross between a cowboy from an American spaghetti western and a nineteen fifties greaser. 

As the hour drew closer to dawn however, they were able to make a passable approximation of each other’s general mannerisms. Enough to hopefully avoid detection. And really, who among their opposing sides would even suspect such a thing? A demon and an angel swapping bodies? Demonic/angelic possession? No one had ever even considered attempting it before. Angels had never possessed  _ anyone _ , finding the practice rather gauche. Much like they looked down their noses at Aziraphale’s incomprehensible love of cheap magic tricks. And demons? Well demons  _ were _ known for possessions. But only ever of humans. And never for the purposes of helping an angel. 

They were relying heavily on the rarity of their body swap to avoid detection. Above and beyond that though, they both knew that their bosses were not the most observant creatures. They’d missed Crowley and Aziraphale’s long, intimate friendship for millennia, even though it took place veritably right under their noses. Both sides were more concerned with paperwork and with the ramping up of their stupid war to pay much attention to what happened down on earth. Unfortunately, what their bosses lacked in attentiveness, they more than made up for in vengefulness and violence. Both were quite attached to elaborate and painful punishments, and so if this didn’t go off without a hitch, either of them could be killed in the worst ways imaginable. 

It was these thoughts, of permanent discorporation that hung over them as they stood by the doorway of Crowley’s flat, preparing to embark on their respective missions. Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s now slender forearms and gazed fiercely into his eyes. The sight of his own eyes, in front of his face, rather than on it, where they belonged was still disorienting to Aziraphale, but at least the feeling of nauseating dread had disappeared. He could still see Crowley’s love for him, even through the mask of the familiar, pale, rosy cheeked face he wore. He could only assume that Crowley felt a similar feeling of surrealness when looking at Aziraphale. 

“Come back to me” Crowley said, searching Aziraphale’s face with worried, hazel eyes.

“I will dearest. I will.” Aziraphale responded. 

They embraced swiftly, and then went down to the street and off in opposite directions. 

________________________________________________

Crowley tried to prevent the rage he felt building inside him from showing on his face as he listened to Gabriel’s careless, cold talk of incinerating Aziraphale.  _ That odious wanker. That pompous ass _ . If it weren’t for the obvious goal of avoiding detection, Crowley would have burned away the ropes that bound his hands to the chair in which he sat with a burst of Hellfire and would have launched himself at the smug archangel. Instead, he sat passively, keeping his face carefully neutral as Gabriel droned on about how Aziraphale was a traitor. 

Crowley’s attempts to dissuade Gabriel from the goal of ending Aziraphale’s life were met with more smug derision. 

“Shut up and die already.” 

Oh how Crowley wished to punch the expression off of Gabriel’s condescending face. His heart hurt for how little Aziraphale’s fellow angels cared for his safety. How they had never planned on giving him a fair trial. His sweet, conscientious Aziraphale. So kind and giving and loving, and these pieces of filth, masquerading as paragons of goodness were going to force him to step into a pillar of Hellfire without a care. 

At last it came time for him to end his own life, or so Gabriel, Uriel and Sandalphon thought. It was with great pleasure that Crowley stepped into the pillar of fire and stood there, completely unharmed, inside its raging orange core. He made a great show of luxuriating in the rushing heat, cracking his neck and sighing dramatically with contentment. When he opened his eyes, he was met with the gratifying sight of three utterly confused and terrified angels.  _ Not so smug anymore are you? _ He thought with satisfaction. 

Needless to say, after he’d stepped back out of the flame, his (Aziraphale’s) clothing smoking only a little, the angels had ushered him swiftly to the exit. They’d promised to leave him alone from now on and Crowley could tell by the looks on their pale, shocked faces that they meant it. 

Alone at last in the lift down to earth, he had time to worry about Aziraphale and how things were transpiring in Hell. His heart clenched with fear at the thought that perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t made it. That his disguise hadn’t been convincing enough. That Crowley had survived Heaven, only to end up alone on earth without his dearest love by his side. His stomach was in knots as the lift dinged open and he ran through the empty, gleaming lobby and out the doors, hailing a cab for Berkeley Square.

___________________________________

The dank, miserable, dark hallways of Hell only made Aziraphale love Crowley more. His poor demon. His poor, brilliant, adventurous, clever demon, forced to come Down here periodically to check in with his superiors. Crowley didn’t belong in a place like this. His beauty and humor were wasted on these miserable, pock marked creatures. 

The “trial”, if you wanted to call it that, was over quite quickly. Aziraphale was afraid at first that they would use a different punishment for Crowley, but soon felt a rush of heady relief when he’d turned and seen the bathtub at the back of the courtroom.  _ Thank God in Heaven above _ , they planned on using holy water, just as Crowley guessed they would. It would be alright. All Aziraphale had to do now was to climb into the tub unharmed. And he did so, with a theatrical flourish that his old friend Shakespeare would have been proud of. 

He’d stripped down to his (Crowley’s) form-fitting, black underthings and sunk calmly and languidly into the white, claw-foot tub filled with holy water. He was an angel, and not overly prone to gloating, or showing off, but he still felt an almost demonic swell of pride at his performance. Beelzebub, Dagon and Hastur looked on in stunned silence as Crowley splashed about, flipping his wet copper hair like a swimsuit model and tossing handfuls of holy water at the thick plastic divider that separated the tub from a gang of barnacle covered, slime coated demons that sheltered on it’s other side. The water hissed as it splashed against the opaque wall that separated them, and Aziraphale was pleased to see the demons jump back in alarm every time he flicked water at them. 

Soon, Michael returned to find him unharmed and happy as a well fed otter, and the look of complete shock on her face was one Aziraphale would remember for a very long time. 

“Michael! Dude! Do us a quick miracle will you, I need a bath towel”

For a split second he’d been surprised at the words coming out of his mouth, addressing the archangel Michael as if she were an attendant at a spa. But Michael, still obviously numb from the sight of a demon, happily and safely submerged in a bathtub full of holy water, had swiftly handed him over a spotless white towel, her mouth hanging open, her eyes round as saucers. 

Aziraphale had secured a promise from the still horrified demons that Crowley was to be left alone in the future. After he’d exited the tub, toweled himself off, and had put Crowley’s clothes back on, he’d been shown quickly to the lift by a pair of hulking demons who were very very careful not to get too close to him as they escorted him to the way out and Up. 

Once inside the lift, Aziraphale executed a quick miracle to rid his hair and body and clothing of any vestiges of the holy water. He didn’t want to burn poor Crowley. The lift dinged cheerily as it reached the great, gleaming lobby of H&H Industries, and Aziraphale had bolted for the shining double glass doors and out onto the street. It took him a matter of seconds to hail a cab, and he sat in the back seat, worrying his hands together in his lap, fear and joy warring inside him as the cab drove ever-so-slowly towards Berkeley Square. What if Crowley hadn’t made it? What if they’d decided to rip him to pieces or to stab him with a holy sword rather than use Hellfire like Aziraphale had guessed they would? What if his demon was at this moment eradicated from the earth and he was alone forever? The thought made his stomach twist painfully with anxiety and made sweat break out on the palms of his strangely long and elegant hands.

He looked down at his body, thinking  _ this could be the last time I get to see Crowley _ . He ran his hands down the long, lanky legs he loved so much, put his hands up under Crowley’s undershirt and splayed them across the demon’s narrow chest, feeling his own heartbeat beneath the demon’s sternum. He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed himself tight, imagining that he was holding Crowley, and in a very real way, he was.. He felt tears swell in his eyes at the memory of the demon resting warmly and sweetly in his arms in the early morning hours, just a short while ago.  _ Crowley. Please be alright, _ he prayed. Not to God. Just a silent prayer to himself, while resolutely ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the cabby in the rearview.

The car pulled up at Berkeley Square, and Aziraphale threw a hastily miracled 50 pound note at the driver, ignoring his surprised “thank you, sir!” as he flung himself from the cab and ran into the park. His eyes were busily scanning the area, looking for that telltale flash of white that would indicate that Crowley, wearing Aziraphale’s body was alive and unharmed. For a sickening moment, he couldn’t see Crowley, and then, he rounded a curve in the path and saw the demon, looking far more casually relaxed than Aziraphale had ever looked, lounging against the park bench where they’d decided to meet. 

Aziraphale’s heart leapt inside his chest as he ran towards Crowley. The demon soon caught sight of him and jumped to his feet, his face, Aziraphale’s face, lighting up with joy. Aziraphale stopped short, half a foot away from where Crowley stood and they both looked at one another briefly, their eyes locked, smiling in happy disbelief at finding the other alive and well, and then, with a gasp and a sigh, they fell into each other’s arms. 

“Oh my darling darling Crowley” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s neck

“Yes angel. I’m here. I made it. You made it too. Dear Satan.. You made it”

They hugged fiercely for a moment, then parted, lips inches apart, pausing for just a moment, considering the strangeness of kissing one’s own lips. Both of them simultaneously decided that the prospect wasn’t as unsettling as they’d thought it would be when faced with the joy of being reunited. Aziraphale-as-Crowley kissed Crowley-as-Aziraphale, just for a moment, before pulling away from one another and sitting on the bench, a little awkwardly. Once Crowley ascertained that no one, not human, demon or angel was watching them, they did as they’d planned back at the flat and grasped hands. Both of them concentrated hard on imagining their own bodies again, and with a slight push of demonic-celestial energy, they slowly shifted back to their original forms. Aziraphale felt himself thickening, shortening slightly, felt the old, familiar weight of his body, his thick legs and soft belly and broad shoulders wrapping around him like a warm blanket. He felt the hand clasped in his own thin and elongate, the fingers changing from thick to slender. 

After a dizzying moment, they released hands and shook themselves a bit. It felt unbelievably good to be back in his own body again, to look over and see Crowley, properly, where he should be, sitting on the bench beside Aziraphale. Crowley leaned back, regarding him through his dark shades like he always had, and invited him to lunch, and Aziraphale gladly agreed. They decided to walk to the Ritz, and as they did so, Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley’s and interlaced their fingers. He could feel Crowley pull back just a little in surprise, unused to such blatant affection in public, and then felt him relax into the grip of Aziraphale’s hand as he remembered that they had no reason to hide anymore. 

“You know,” Aziraphale leaned over to whisper hotly into Crowley’s ear. “We could simply go to your flat and skip lunch.” He saw Crowley’s face redden slightly at the suggestion, but the demon only smiled and continued walking.

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” he remarked, his voice husky despite his casual manner. “I think we owe ourselves a lunch out, now that we’re free and clear, don’t you angel?”

“If you insist, my dear” Aziraphale said through a broad smile. “You know I can’t turn down a good meal. Especially with such a handsome dinner companion.”. Crowley scoffed at his flattery, but Aziraphale noticed that his cheeks retained their blush.

And so it was that they ended up at a very good table at the Ritz, near the piano, and Crowley watched lovingly as Aziraphale made his way through several dishes, while the demon enjoyed a few glasses of very expensive wine and a few small bites proffered by the angel here and there. Aziraphale, though he kept up a pleasant conversation during the meal, could not help but stare steadily and hungrily at Crowley while he ate. Telegraphing with eyes like burning embers that while he was enjoying his food greatly, that it was Crowley whom he really wanted to devour. The heated looks had a very satisfying effect. Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s cheeks turned more and more pink, as his breath came faster and how he squirmed in his seat under the angel’s ardent gaze. 

By the time Aziraphale was slowly slipping the last bite of angel food cake drenched in raspberry reduction topped with whipped cream into his mouth, letting his lips pull sensually along the length of the fork-tines as he slid the utensil from his lips, Crowley was barely keeping it together. The demon was blushing furiously and he couldn’t seem to sit still. His dark glasses were in place like usual, but his face, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, was trained continually in Aziraphale’s direction, and the angel could tell Crowley was watching him like a hawk behind those frustratingly dark lenses. The moment the waiter came over with the check, Crowley had forestalled him from leaving, pulled a large wad of bills from seemingly out of nowhere and thrust them at the surprised man. “There you go. Keep the change.” He said brusquely, then grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and pulled him up and out of his chair. “My flat.  _ Now angel, _ ” he hissed into Aziraphale’s ear. Together they swiftly exited the restaurant, and the minute they were out of sight around the corner, Crowley snapped his fingers, transporting them instantly to the demon’s sitting room. 

“My!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Someone was in a hurry to get home. I seem to remember a certain demon insisting on lunch out, and now this...”

“Shut up angel” Crowley growled, flinging his sunglasses down on the couch. He grabbed Aziraphale and kissed him with a fervent intensity that left Aziraphale breathless and tingling all over. “Watching you eat has got me all worked up,” Crowley breathed hoarsely, before starting in on removing Aziraphale’s bowtie with trembling fingers. “You’re such a filthy tease when you eat. You know that don’t you? Been watching you use that mouth on everything but what I want it on for too many centuries”.

Before Aziraphale could gather his thoughts to respond however, Crowley had captured his mouth again, and any words he could have used were incinerated by the heat in the demon’s slick, wet mouth on his own. Crowley succeeded in removing the bowtie with a grunt of satisfaction and flung it carelessly to the floor. He then started in on the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. He broke their kiss again, his voice gruff with need. “You wear too many bloody layers angel. I haven’t seen your collar bone in centuries.  _ Please help. _ ”

Aziraphale, who up to then had been too overwhelmed by eager demon kisses to do anything but grip Crowley by the shoulders and moan, jumped to action, pulling his coat from his shoulders and helping Crowley with the buttons of his shirt. He started at the bottom while Crowley worked on the buttons at his throat, all while clumsily kissing the demon, trying not to break contact for too long. His head was spinning and his body was on fire. He was rock hard already, had been since halfway through dinner. Once they’d both succeeded getting Aziraphale’s shirt unbuttoned, Crowley spread it open, almost reverently, his yellow-black eyes, dilated with want, slowly raking their way over the angel’s neck and chest and down his belly. The demon made an urgent little sound in the back of his throat and slowly drove his hands up under the cotton tank top Aziraphale wore under his shirt. The sudden contact had Aziraphale’s eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. 

“Mmm..more layers,” Crowley purred as the feel of his fingers skating over the touch starved skin of Aziraphale’s belly and chest caused the angel to suck in a sharp gasp of breath. “It’s like unwrapping a Christmas present,” Crowley mumbled as he applied his hot, wet mouth to the side of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale moaned, pressing himself up and against Crowley’s body and his lips, gripping Crowley by the waist and pulling him closer still. This was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d dreamed about for so very long. It felt dreamlike, being here with Crowley, being taken apart by his mouth and hands without fear of reprisal. A beautiful dream. 

Crowley meanwhile was very worked up indeed. He was painting sloppy, open mouthed kisses all along the side of Aziraphale’s neck, rubbing up against Aziraphale with urgent rolls of his narrow hips, making needy little moaning noises in the back of his throat. There was a desperate, mindless quality to his desire, and Aziraphale knew the demon wouldn’t be much use if he didn’t release some of that pressure. 

He gently pulled Crowley back from his worship of the angel’s neck and pushed him down so that he sat on the sofa. Crowley groaned in disappointment and pouted at being pulled away from what he’d been doing, but the pout evaporated swiftly when Aziraphale knelt before him and started working on his belt buckle. “Speaking of layers,” Aziraphale remarked, businesslike through his breathlessness as he undid Crowley’s ridiculously unnecessary belt and tugged at his skin tight black jeans. “You certainly wrap yourself up tight don’t you my love?” Crowley could only stare at him in lust filled wonder as Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s jeans and black boxer briefs off and away, discarding them nearby. Once freed, Crowley’s cock bobbed, thick and red and pulsing gently above his belly. Aziraphale took a moment to simply admire it. “You’re so lovely,” he said, looking up at Crowley through his lashes. Then he sank his mouth down on Crowley’s cock in one long, fluid movement, ending with his nose buried in the soft hair at it’s base. 

Crowley gave a strangled moan and his hands flew to tangle themselves in Aziraphale’s hair. “Sweet Satan, angel! Oh fuck. You.. your mouth.”, Aziraphale pulled up and off Crowley’s delicious cock for a moment to fix the demon with a mock-stern look. 

“You’re no good to me pent up like this, my darling. I want you to come good and hard so that we can focus on one another properly.” Hearing this made Crowley’s eyes roll back in his head and Aziraphale felt the demon’s hands tighten where they were buried in his hair. 

“Oh  _ fuck  _ angel. That sounds like a very good idea. You always have such good ideas, you- oooh fuuuck!” The end of his sentence broke off in a moan as Aziraphale returned to his work, engulfing Crowley with his hot mouth. He barely had time to slide Crowley’s cock to the back of his throat and pull back a little before the demon thrust up gently with his hips and came with a loud yell. Aziraphale felt hot semen fill his mouth and swallowed hungrily, reveling in the feel of Crowley thrusting up into the snug place at the back of his throat, letting the sound of Crowley’s open mouthed gasps ring hotly in his ears. He held onto the demon’s writhing hips until his movements slowed and stopped. 

He pulled off with a smile and looked up at his ruined, panting demon, who gazed back at him drunkenly. Crowley gently released his grip on Aziraphale’s hair and leaned forward to pull him into a deep kiss, sharing the taste of himself with the angel. “Thank you angel,” he breathed when their lips parted. “I needed that.”

“I could tell my darling. Come. Let’s get you to a bed so we can make love properly.” Crowley’s eyes grew dreamy and full of love. He let Aziraphale pull him to his feet and wandered, shirt still on and naked from the waist down, after the angel to the bedroom. 

Once inside, they finished undressing and lay down together on the bed, kissing softly and letting their hands roam over skin that before now had been just a heated dream on lonely nights. Aziraphale was still rock hard, but he had the patience of a celestial being who’d spent almost literally forever pining away over an untouchable demon, and so he could forestall their love making for a while to allow Crowley time to recover and join him. Still, he couldn’t help pulling Crowley against him a bit forcefully and deepening their kisses. Crowley melted under his touch, sighing into Aziraphale’s mouth. 

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale felt Crowley hardening against him again. The feeling of their nude bodies pressing together was indescribable, and Aziraphale found that he was losing a bit of his control. His hips began thrusting him against Crowley seemingly of their own accord and their kisses and touches were growing more urgent by the second. 

“Now look who’s pent up,” Crowley grinned against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Look who’s being a naughty angel. Perhaps the Guardian of the Eastern Gate is in some need of some well earned demonic temptation?”, Saying this, he snaked a hand down between them and gripped Aziraphale at the base, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. 

Aziraphale let out a low moan and thrust himself against Crowley’s hand. He reached down and grabbed the demon’s cock in response and was rewarded with a sharp gasp from Crowley. For a while they played with one another, using gentle tugs and exploratory strokes of their fingers and palms and kissed sloppily. Eventually, Crowley’s soft, attentive hand on his cock caused a tingling pressure to build inside Aziraphale’s lower belly. He pushed Crowley away gently with an apologetic look. “I don’t want to finish too quickly dearest. Your... Well, your hand hand is getting me quite close.”

Crowley grinned wickedly “We wouldn’t want that now would we?”, He pushed Aziraphale onto his back and began lavishing Aziraphale’s chest with wet kisses. He moved lower and Aziraphale, sensing the direction his mouth was headed, gripped Crowley by the shoulders “Dearest,” he managed to choke out through a haze of anticipatory tingles “I.. don’t think that’s the best way to make this last”

“Oh ye of little faith” Crowley smiled up at him briefly before continuing his path downwards, his lips leaving trails of fire against Aziraphale’s chest and upper stomach and moving lower. Aziraphale threw his arms above his head and surrendered, breathing deeply and trying to still the pounding of his heart. Being so close to Crowley, touching him, smelling him, feeling his hot kisses traveling down Aziraphale’s body. It was overwhelming to say the least. 

He expected Crowley to take him into his mouth, but instead, the demon gripped him tightly at the base and began lavishing Aziraphale’s lower stomach and hips and upper thighs with soft, wet kisses. He carefully skirted Aziraphale’s cock as he did so, using his grip on the angel’s base to keep the stiff, aching member out of the path of his mouth, and Aziraphale moaned in delicious frustration. 

“Oh Crowley. Oh your mouth is so wonderful!” He dared to look down and almost lost control at the sight of Crowley’s disheveled auburn hair and beautiful face, eyes closed while he worshiped Aziraphale’s body with his mouth. 

“Mmm,” Crowley murmured through a volley of hot little kisses against the crease of where Aziraphale’s leg met his pelvis. “Mmhmmm. I’m going to torture you my sweet little angel. You won’t come until you beg me for release”. 

Aziraphale should not have been surprised that Crowley had a gently sadistic streak to his lovemaking. He was a demon after all. “I rather think that won’t be necessary Crowley. I’m a tad bit overwhelmed as it -- oh! Oh my!”

Crowley had effectively silenced Aziraphale with one long, slow lick of his tongue up the front of Aziraphale’s cock, right to the tip, and then went back to his oral worship of Aziraphale’s body, this time placing soft little kisses all along the sensitive skin, right in front of the base of the angel’s cock. Aziraphale writhed and gasped. 

“Oh! Oh. I see what you mean. You.. you won’t suck me until I… ask you for it?”

“Until you beg me, yes” Crowley’s lips against his skin as he spoke, the brush of his hot breath only added to Aziraphale’s torture. 

“Oh my dearest. If begging is what you need to hear, then beg I will. Please suck me. Please.”

Crowley stopped the movement of his mouth to peer up at Aziraphale through slitted yellow eyes. “That didn’t sound enthusiastic enough angel.” And with that he turned his attention to kissing the soft, oh-so-sensitive flesh of Aziraphale’s inner thigh. 

“Oh dear god! Oh Crowley. Please suck me. Please. I can’t stand it. I need your mouth on me now!” Aziraphale threw caution and propriety to the wind and begged in earnest. He really did feel like he might discorporate from frustration if Crowley didn’t suck him soon. Even though he also knew that he’d likely come very quickly thereafter.

“ _ That’s  _ more like it angel” Crolwey purred, and then took the head of Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth. Aziraphale had dreamed for many hundreds of years of what this very thing would feel like, and the reality of it, Crowley’s hot mouth slowly sliding down his stiff length surpassed any and all expectations he’d held previously. It was torture, but of the most delicious kind. He gritted his teeth with the effort of holding back his orgasm, feeling it twist threateningly deep inside him as Crowley sank all the way down on his cock to the base. He was enveloped by wet heat, and he felt himself twitch inside Crowley’s mouth, then heard and felt the demon groan in response. 

“Dearest, he said, breathless, overcome with love, unable to say more. “Oh my dearest…”, and then Crowley  _ moved _ , pulling his lips back up Aziraphale’s length and the resulting pleasure pulled a sharp cry from the angel’s mouth. Crowley gripped him tightly by the base and waited, stilling his mouth and tongue to give Aziraphale a moment to recover, and then he moved again, bobbing up and down slowly, carefully skirting the line between giving Aziraphale intense pleasure and pushing him over the edge. 

Aziraphale was beyond conscious thought. His body was completely under the thrall of Crowley’s mouth, Crowley’s hand. He was too close. It felt too good. “Crowley.. I..I,” he stuttered, unable to finish his sentence as his orgasm ripped through him. His breath exploded out of him in sharp cries, mixed with Crowley’s name, over and over as he felt the unbearably good twist of pleasure pulse inside him. 

Eventually, as Aziraphale’s cries turned to gasps, and then to low, exhausted moans, Crowley pulled himself up and off of Aziraphale’s cock, making sure to keep his lips sealed tight as he went, so as to drink up every last drop. The demon then crawled up to press himself against Aziraphale’s side. He inserted one arm behind Aziraphale’s neck, the other arm wrapped tightly around the angel’s thick waist. He flung a long, slender leg across Aziraphale’s lower belly and snuggled up against him with a happy sigh. “How was that angel? Sounded like you enjoyed it a little.” Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s smile against his neck.

“You simply want to hear me praise your skills and you know it,” Aziraphale replied, trying his best to affect a mock-scolding tone, though his head was still reeling from the power of his climax, and he still struggled to catch his breath. 

“Of course I do. It took me six thousand years of very patient courtship, but I finally got an angel into my bed and have succeeded in debauching him. I deserve a little praise” 

Aziraphale chuckled happily. “Well my beautiful demon. Consider me completely and utterly debauched. You’ve done a fantastic job. In fact, I may never let you leave this bed.” he wrapped his arms around Crowley and pulled him even closer, placing indulgent kisses against the demon’s sweet smelling hair. 

“I love you,” Crowley said softly, against Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I love you too dearest,” Aziraphale responded, feeling emotion well up and block his throat momentarily at hearing the demon say the words he’d longed to hear for millennia. “I have for oh so long”.

“Yeah. Ever since I saw you eating that pear, I was gone on you,” Crowley mumbled. 

“What pear dear? I’ve eaten many pears in my day.”

“The one in The Garden,” Crowley replied, languidly pressing his renewed erection against Aziraphale’s hip.

“In The Garden?” Aziraphale cast his mind all the way back to that sunny day, the sixth day to be precise, to the moment he’d looked up from the juicy flesh of that pear to see a large black snake staring at him as he ate. “That long ago? Oh, my  _ darling _ ..”

“Don’t go getting all mushy on me angel. But yeah. I didn’t know what it meant, but there was this soft spot in my heart for you, even back then. Even before we’d ever spoken to each other. So, now you know and you can lord it over me for the rest of our days,” he growled grumpily and burrowed his face further into Aziraphale’s neck. 

“You silly old serpent.” Aziraphale smiled broadly. “The moment you appeared before me in your human corporation...well, I was done for. You were oh so dashing and mysterious in your dark robes, with your lovely red hair. The moment I saw your face, I knew I was lost on you.”  Aziraphale swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing, finding it a little hard to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. “I fought it for a long time Crowley. Up until the bombing of that church, when you saved my books. That’s when I knew I was hopelessly in love with you. That I never wanted to leave your side again.”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed. 

“My darling,” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley a little tighter, until the demon grunted in protest. 

They started kissing again then, slowly, sweetly, until Aziraphale reached down to run his fingers over Crowley’s stiff erection, at which point the kisses turned hungry and urgent. Eventually, after some negotiation and some very pleasurable experimentation with the angel’s fingers, Aziraphale had Crowley’s knees over his shoulders and was working his aching cock slowly inside Crowley. He fucked Crowley carefully, gently, until the demon begged him to increase his speed and force. Aziraphale complied, increasing the power of his thrusts. Every time he slowed to check in with Crowley, the demon gasped out urgent requests for more, gripping Aziraphale’s hips and trying to pull him in tighter, harder. Aziraphale, finally assured that he wouldn’t hurt the demon, began pounding Crowley into the mattress with sharp snaps of his hips. Crowley took all of Aziraphale, crying out “Angel! Angel! Angel!” with every thrust. They soon shuddered their way through another orgasm, the stiff pulls of Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s cock pushing him over the edge at almost the same time that Aziraphale spilled inside of Crowley with a loud yell. 

By the time morning came, they were lying, exhausted and deliriously happy in a mess of very wrinkled sheets. Aziraphale thought he could make love to Crowley several more times, but that it was probably best if they had some tea and perhaps went and got some food. They had an eternity to experiment with each other. Another six thousand years to play and tease and take each other apart. He sighed with deep happiness and pulled his exhausted, dreamy-eyed demon back into his arms. 

“Shall we get some breakfast, dearest?” he asked, kissing Crowley’s forehead tenderly.

“Yeah, angel. That sounds good,” Crowley lifted his face and caught Aziraphale’s lips with his own. “That sounds perfect.” 


End file.
